UP,  THE  RE 


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UP,  THE   REBELS! 

G.     A.     BIRMINGHAM 


BY  G.  A.   BIRMINGHAM 


UP,  THE  REBELSI 

OUR  CASUALTY  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

THE   ISLAND   MYSTERY 

GOSSAMER 

MINNIE'S  BISHOP  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

GENERAL    JOHN   REGAN 

THE   LOST  TRIBES 

SPANISH    GOLD 

LALAGE'S  LOVERS 

THE    SEARCH   PARTY 

THE   SIMPKINS  PLOT 

THE    MAJOR'S    NIECE 

PRISCILLA'S    SPIES 

THE   RED    HAND   OF  ULSTER 

THE  ADVENTURES  OF  DR.  WHITTY 

THE  SEETHING  POT 

THE   BAD  TIMES 

HYACINTH 

FROM  DUBLIN  TO  CHICAGO 


NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  H.   DORAN   COMPANY 


UP,  THE  REBELS! 


BY 

G.   A.    BIRMINGHAM 

Author  of  "Our  Casualty/'  ''Spanish  Gold/ 
*'  The  Island  Mystery/'  etc. 


J  J    »    >  »    » 
J  *  J '  >  J  » ' 


NEW  ^^tSr  YORK 
GEORGE  H.   DORAN  COMPANY 


Copyright,  iQiQy 
By  George  H,  Doran  Company 


•         •    •       «       c  « 


.  •  •  •  .•  • 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


TO  ANY  FRIENDS  I  HAVE 

LEFT  IN  IRELAND  AFTER 

THE   PUBLICATION   OF 

THIS    BOOK 


UP,  THE  REBELS! 


I    >  > 

'    *  1  * 

»   t    '    u 


UP,  THE  REBELS! 

CHAPTER  I 

IT  happens  occasionally — sanitary  drainage  being 
a  makeshift  business — that  a  pipe  gets  choked. 
Then  foul  water,  which  should  be  running  unno- 
ticed into  a  sewer,  backs  up,  overflows  and   forms 
evil  pools  on  the  floor  of  a  house.     These  are  most 
offensive  to  our  eyes  and  noses. 

The  subject  is  an  unsavoury  one.  No  one,  cer- 
tainly no  writer  who  wishes  to  be  read  by  pleasant 
people,  cares  to  dwell  on  it.  But  the  defects  of  our 
drainage  are  not  unlike  those  which  appear  now  and 
then  in  our  social  system.  Dublin,  for  instance,  is  a 
city  of  very  respectable  streets  and  squares,  possessing 
certain  fine  buildings  of  which  it  is  justly  proud.  But 
behind  the  respectable  streets  and  squares,  within  ear- 
shot of  the  fine  buildings,  there  are  alleys  and  lane- 
ways,  not  unlike  the  drains  of  a  house,  leading  to 
slums.  These  are,  very  properly,  out  of  sight  and 
a  man  might  live  long  in  Dublin  comfortably  uncon- 
scious of  the  existence  of  extreme  poverty,  misery  and 
discontent.  If  only  the  drainage  system  worked  with- 
out a  hitch  no  one  need  ever  worry.  But  the  drains 
choke  sometimes.     Then  there  is  an  overflow.     And 

9 


lo    '•'••'  .  • ''Ui^/TH^  REBELS! 

decent'  stMH  sre- •submei'ged  for  an  hour  or  two  by 
people  whom  the  inhabitants  of  decent  streets  do  not 
at  all  want  to  see.  It  is  only  for  an  hour  or  two, 
for  the  police,  the  plumbers  of  civic  life,  get  things 
set  right  very  soon  and  the  offensive  flood  subsides, 
temporarily.  Some  day  the  business  of  overhauling 
the  whole  system  will  be  taken  in  hand  seriously. 
Meanwhile,  our  governors,  the  sanitary  engineers  of 
the  state,  content  themselves  with  stopping  gully  holes 

and  vents. 

One  Sunday  afternoon,  a  gloomy  afternoon  in  late 
autumn,  the  sewers  of  the  city  of  Dublin  overflowed 
and  a  crowd  of  unhealthy-looking  people  spread  over 
a  broad  street,  not  at  all  far  from  a  highly  respectable 
neighbourhood.  The  regular  inhabitants  of  that  neigh- 
bourhood, well  to  do  people  accustomed  to  decency, 
were  disgusted,  indignant  and  a  little  frightened.  The 
men  in  the  crowd  were  filthy  and  unshaved.  They 
had  gaunt  faces.  Some  of  them  had  been  drinking 
heavily  and  were  evidently  accustomed  to  drink  con- 
stantly. Others  were  listless,  apathetic,  hopeless. 
There  were  more  women  than  men.  Some  of  the 
women  were  old,  with  straggling  grey  hair,  wrinkled 
brown  throats  and  scarred  hands.  Others  were  young 
and  had  babies  in  their  arms.  They  seemed  more  hor- 
rible than  the  older  women,  because  their  way  of  walk- 
ing, their  gestures  and  their  bold  eyes  seemed  a  de- 
liberate flouting  of  that  modesty  of  which  the  passing 
of  many  years  had  robbed  the  others.  Many  of  the 
women  were  as  plainly  drink-sodden  as  the  men;  but 
none  of  them  were  listless.    They  were  fierce  or  greedy. 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  ii 

The  men  were  despairing.  The  women  still  had  hope, 
of  pillage  amid  tumult,  or  some  kind  of  wild 
revenge. 

At  the  lower  end  of  the  street  stood  a  body  of  police, 
some  twenty  or  thirty  men,  under  an  inspector  in  a 
smart  and  very  handsome  uniform.  As  the  crowd 
gathered  more  police  appeared,  marching  in  single  file 
from  different  parts  of  the  city  and  ranging  themselves 
when  they  arrived  under  the  inspector.  They  were 
plainly  a  well  disciplined  force.  Save  for  the  fact 
that  these  policemen  were  much  larger  than  any  other 
policemen  in  the  world  and  that  the  children  in  the 
crowd  were  more  nearly  naked  than  any  other  children 
in  these  islands,  the  gathering,  so  far,  might  have  been 
in  any  city  on  either  side  of  the  Irish  Sea,  in  Liverpool 
or  Glasgow,  perhaps  in  London. 

At  three  o'clock  a  number  of  young  men  marched 
into  the  street,  past  the  police,  through  the  crowd 
which  made  way  for  them.  They  marched  in  fours, 
keeping  step.  They  wore  uniforms  of  greenish  brown 
cloth.  They  carried  clubs  like  broad-bladed  hockey 
sticks  over  their  shoulders.  At  the  head  of  their 
column  strode  a  tall,  well-built  man  who  carried  a 
tricolour  flag,  green,  white  and  yellow.  He  was 
dressed  like  a  Scottish  Highlander,  but  his  kilt  was 
saffron  coloured,  and  the  shawl,  fastened  on  his 
shoulder  with  a  large  silver  brooch,  was  green.  Be- 
hind him,  also  in  kilts,  marched  six  pipers,  playing 
shrilly.  The  men  in  the  crowd  gave  a  feeble,  irregular 
cheer.  The  women  yelled.  A  small  boy,  naked  except 
for  a  man's  coat  buttoned  across  his  chest  and  reach- 


12  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

ing  to  his  ankles,  gathered  some  twenty  children  like 
himself  and  fell  in  behind  the  marching  men.  His 
whistling  parodied  the  pipers'  tune.  The  police 
watched  the  march  with  expressionless  faces. 

The  pipers  stopped  playing.  A  voice  shouted  a 
word  of  command  :  "  Halt.*'  Half  way  up  the  street 
the  column  stopped.  Other  commands  followed.  The 
young  men,  with  smartness  and  precision,  formed  a 
line  two  deep,  facing  the  crowd. 

A  man  who  had  marched  with  the  volunteers  de- 
tached himself  from  them  and  passed  quickly  along 
the  back  of  their  line.  He  wore  no  uniform,  but  was 
dressed  in  shabby,  ill-fitting  grey  clothes.  He  was 
tall,  lean  and  round-shouldered,  like  a  man  who  sits 
much  over  books  and  papers.  He  had  glasses  balanced 
insecurely  on  his  nose.  He  adjusted  them  constantly 
with  quick  nervous  movements  of  his  fingers.  He 
reached  the  door  of  one  of  the  largest  houses  in  the 
street.  It  was  a  pretentious  house.  Once  the  home 
of  a  prominent  citizen,  it  had  descended  in  the  social 
scale  and  become  a  Government  office.  A  flight  of 
stone  steps  led  to  the  hall  door  and  over  the  steps  was 
a  portico  supported  by  pillars.  The  man  in  grey 
clothes  found  standing  room  on  the  base  of  one  of 
the  pillars.  He  climbed  up  and  was  plainly  to  be 
seen  by  the  crowd  over  the  heads  of  the  volunteers. 
He  still  fidgeted  with  his  glasses. 

The  people  recognized  him  at  once  and  greeted  him 
with  shouts  of  welcome.  "  Up,  Patterson  !  "  "  Go 
on,  Patterson!"  ''Patterson  for  ever!"  Then, 
evidence  of  sympathies  wider  than  personal  affection, 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  13 

they  shouted,  "  Up,  the  Rebels!  "  ''  Up,  Sinn  Fein!  " 
*'  To  Hell  with  the  English  !  " 

The  pipers  played  the  tune  of  '*  The  Soldiers'  Song  " 
which  has  taken  the  place  of  the  dirge-like  *'A  Na- 
tion Once  Again  "  as  the  national  anthem  of  revolu- 
tionary Ireland.  A  young  woman,  holding  her  baby 
high  in  her  arms,  began  to  shout  the  words.  Other 
men  and  women  joined  in.  Alfred  Patterson  stood 
bareheaded.  His  thin  face  twitched  with  excitement. 
His  glasses  dropped  from  his  nose  and  were  not 
replaced.  His  grey  eyes  \vere  bright.  The  man  was 
an  enthusiast  and  the  tune  moved  him.  When  it 
came  to  an  end  he  began  to  speak. 

His  first  subject  was  the  fate  of  certain  prisoners 
then  in  gaol.  He  said  that  they  were  being  starved 
to  death  by  their  gaolers.  The  crowd  muttered 
sympathy.  Many  of  the  men  and  some  of  the  women 
had  been  in  prison  themselves.  Nearly  every  one 
present  knew  by  experience  the  extreme  unpleasant- 
ness of  hunger  and  could  easily  guess  that  death 
by  starvation  is  a  horrible  business.  Patterson  de- 
veloped this  theme  and  spoke  of  the  bondage,  not  un- 
like prison,  in  which  the  labouring  classes  are  held  ; 
and  the  slow  process  of  starvation  by  which  their  lives 
are  cut  short.  The  crowd  passed  from  muttering  to 
cheering.  Whatever  the  case  of  the  prisoners  might 
be  there  was  no  question,  so  these  men  and  women 
felt,  that  they  themselves  were  oppressed  and  starved. 
Alfred  Patterson  went  on.  It  w^as  England,  a  wholly 
malignant  power,  which  was  starving  Ireland  to  death, 
and  until  freedom  was  secured — his  voice  rose  to  a 


14  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

cry  on  the  word  "  freedom  "—the  freedom  of  an  inde- 
pendent Irish  Republic 

At  this  point  he  was  stopped.  The  poHce  inspec- 
tor, a  tall  and  burly  man,  made  his  way  through  the 
crowd,  elbowed  for  himself  a  passage  through  the 
ranks  of  the  volunteers  and  laid  his  hand  on  Patter- 
son's arm.  He  said,  briefly  but  quite  plainly,  that 
he  would  allow  no  more  speech-making  and  that  the 
crowd  must  disperse.  Patterson  beckoned  to  the 
officer  who  commanded  the  volunteers.  The  police 
inspector  looked  at  the  ranks  of  the  young  men  drawn 
up  along  the  street.  Then  he  glanced  at  his  own  men, 
a  compact  body.  He  smiled  slightly.  His  force  was 
a  little  outnumbered,  but  he  calculated  that  he  com- 
manded the  better  men.  The  crowd  might  take  a  part 
in  the  fray,  if  there  were  to  be  a  fray,  but  it  would 
be  an  ineffective  part. 

Patterson  and  the  volunteer  officer  consulted  in 
whispers.  A  minute  or  two  of  tense  expectation 
passed.  Some  of  the  men  in  the  crowd,  tattered,  lean, 
whisky  sodden,  edged  quietly  away  towards  side 
streets.  The  women,  even  those  with  babies  in  their 
arms,  were  inclined  to  press  forward.  One  old  woman 
flung  a  stone  and  broke  a  window  in  the  house  with 
a  portico.     No  one  took  any  notice  of  her  action. 

Then  a  car  drawn  by  a  good  horse  and  decked  with 
little  flags,  yellow,  white  and  green,  dashed  into  the 
street  past  the  police.  The  driver  flourished  a  be^ 
ribboned  whip.  On  one  side  of  the  car  sat  a  young 
woman.  On  the  other  a  young  man  in  volunteer  uni- 
form.   At  the  sight  of  the  car  and  its  flags  the  volun- 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  15 

teers  drawn  up  in  the  street  raised  their  clubs  at  arms' 
length  and  cheered.  The  crowd,  moved  to  tremendous 
enthusiasm,  shouted.  The  driver  of  the  car  pulled  his 
horse  to  a  sudden  stop.  The  young  woman  sprang  to 
the  ground  and,  helped  by  the  man  in  uniform,  made 
her  way  towards  the  place  where  Patterson  and  the 
police  officer  were  standing.  She  was  a  tall  girl,  strik- 
ingly dressed  in  a  gown  which  hung  straight  from 
her  shoulders  to  a  loose  broad  girdle,  and  then  in 
long  folds  to  her  feet.  A  band  of  embroidery,  pale 
blue  and  silver,  ran  round  the  top  of  the  gown  below 
her  neck.  She  had  a  pale  blue  cloak,  like  the  pipers* 
cloaks  in  shape,  fastened  on  one  shoulder  and  flung 
loose  behind  her.  Her  arms  and  gloveless  hands 
showed  very  white  where  her  wide  sleeves  fell  back 
from  them.  In  some  such  fashion,  according  to  the 
artists  who  illustrate  Irish  books,  Celtic  Queens  used 
to  dress  in  the  days  of  Maeve  and  Grania. 

"  The  darling,"  shouted  an  old  woman  in  the 
crowd.     "  It's  herself  has  the  lovely  face." 

"  It's  Miss  Conolly,"  said  Alfred  Patterson  to  the 
volunteer  beside  him. 

He  glanced  at  the  police  inspector  as  he  spoke. 
That  officer  had  also  recognized  Miss  Conolly.  He 
was  watching  her  progress  through  the  crowd  with 
troubled,  uncertain  eyes.  She  moved  among  the  people 
without  seeming  to  resent  the  hands,  rough  and  grimy, 
which  stroked  or  held  her  raiment  as  she  passed.  She 
smiled  back  at  faces  thrust  close  to  hers.  The  small 
boy,  who  had  led  the  band  of  urchins  behind  the 
marching  volunteers,  caught  her  sleeve.     She  stooped 


i6  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

to  look  at  his  pinched  face  and  the  old  coat  which 
covered  him.  She  put  her  hand  on  his  shoulder  and 
drew  him  to  her.  Then  she  picked  him  up  in  her  arms 
and  carried  him  over  to  the  portico  where  Patterson 
stood. 

The  police  inspector  watched  her.  The  expression 
of  cool  confidence  had  left  his  face.  He  looked 
puzzled.  Alfred  Patterson  stepped  down  from  his 
pedestal  and  greeted  Miss  Conolly  : 

"  Will  you  speak  to  the  people  ?  "  he  said. 

"  But,"  said  Miss  Conolly,  "  I  came  to  hear  you 
speak.  Peter  Maillia,"  she  turned  to  the  young  man 
who  escorted  her  and  smiled,  "Peter  brought  me 
specially  to  hear  you  speak." 

"The  police  have  forbidden  me  to  speak,"  said 
Patterson. 

Miss  Conolly  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  with 
sparkling  eyes. 

"The  police  !"  she  said.     "How  dare  they  ?" 

Alfred  Patterson  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Miss 
Conolly's  face  flushed  suddenly. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  speak,"  she  said.  "  I  have  never 
spoken  to  a  crowd  like  this.    But  I'll  try." 

"If  you  arrest  any  one,"  said  Patterson  to  the  po- 
lice officer,  "you  must  arrest  her." 

This  was  precisely  what  worried  the  inspector. 
The  arrest  of  Alfred  Patterson  was  a  simple  matter. 
He  was  a  seller  of  secondhand  books,  with  a  shop 
in  a  back  street,  a  man  with  a  taste  for  speech-making, 
play-acting  and  politics,  fair  game  for  the  police.  By 
no  conceivable  chance  could  any  unpleasantness  follow 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  17 

his  arrest,  any  unpleasantness  to  the  police.  There 
might,  of  course,  be  unpleasantness  for  Alfred  Patter- 
son ;  but  then,  being  the  kind  of  man  he  was,  it  might 
be  supposed  that  he  liked  unpleasantness.  The  arrest 
of  Miss  Conolly  was  a  very  different  affair.  She  was 
the  daughter  of  a  highly  placed  Government  official,  an 

unruly  and  disobedient  daughter  no  doubt,  but 

In  these  days  the  Irish  police  must  be  careful.  It  does 
not  do  to  arrest  law-breakers  at  sight  simply  because 
they  are  law-breakers.  It  is  necessary  to  consider.  Sir 
Ulick  Conolly  was  a  man  who  might  very  easily  make 
or  mar  the  career  of  a  police  inspector.  A  whisper 
across  a  luncheon-table  in  the  club  would  be  sufficient. 
The  inspector  scowled  at  Alfred  Patterson  and 
watched  Miss  Conolly  with  dubious  eyes. 

She  mounted  the  pedestal  which  Patterson  had  left. 
She  still  held  the  small  boy  in  her  arms.  His  bare 
feet  had  wiped  themselves  on  the  front  of  her  dress, 
leaving  great  patches  of  mud.  Her  neck  was  smudged 
where  his  hands  had  touched  it.  He  was  held  high 
when  she  stood  on  the  pedestal.  It  could  be  seen  that 
the  skin  of  his  legs  was  chapped  and  raw,  that  his 
toes  were  covered  with  broken  chilblains. 

Miss  Conolly  caught  the  end  of  the  cloak  which 
hung  from  her  shoulders  and  drew  it  round  the  boy, 
hiding  the  tattered  coat  which  covered  him.  Then 
she  began  to  speak  to  the  people  below  her. 

Her  speech,  or  something  very  like  it,  must  have 
been  made  a  thousand  times  before,  in  every  corner 
of  Ireland.  It  was  the  speech  of  a  vehement  Na- 
tionalist.   It  was  clogged  with  phrases  worn  shapeless 


i8  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

with  perpetual  use,  abominable  because  stained  with 
a  hundred  insincerities.  But  the  girl  herself  was 
sincere,  passionately  sincere.  She  quoted  poetry  and 
passed  from  the  poetry  of  others  to  a  prose  rhapsody 
of  her  own  about  the  dear  dark  head  of  Kathaleen  ni 
Houlihan.  The  volunteers  cheered  finely.  The  crowd 
beyond  them  cheered  too,  as  an  Irish  crowd  will  al- 
ways cheer  fine  words  and  the  familiar  phrases  of 
orators.  In  some  vague  way  they  believed  that  Eng- 
land was  the  cause  of  their  poverty  and  misery.  But 
the  thought  of  the  ''  dear  dark  head  "  moved  them 
very  little.  Unless  Kathaleen  ni  Houlihan,  whoever 
she  was,  could  produce  food  for  empty  bellies  and  re- 
duce the  price  of  whisky — England's  fault  certainly, 
the  outrageous  price  of  whisky — she  meant  little  to 
them.  What  they  wanted  was  food,  and  cheap  drink, 
or  more  wages,  or,  better  still,  the  loot  of  shops,  such 
as  had  fallen  to  them  in  the  early  days  of  the  insurrec- 
tion of  1916. 

Miss  Conolly  reached  the  one  definite  thing  in  her 
speech,  the  fate  of  the  prisoners  of  whom  Alfred  Pat- 
terson had  already  spoken.  It  was  for  their  sake  the 
meeting  was  held.  In  the  hope  of  frightening  the 
Government  by  a  popular  demonstration  the  inhabi- 
tants of  the  city  slums  had  been  summoned,  had  come, 
willingly  enough,  to  flaunt  their  rags  in  broad  streets. 
Miss  Conolly  spoke  with  passion,  with  a  bold  disre- 
gard for  facts  she  reiterated  Patterson's  charges 
against  the  prison  authorities.  The  victims  of  an 
alien  tyranny  whose  only  crime  was  patriotism  were 
being  tortured  and  starved.    There  was  no  doubt  that 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  19 

Miss  Conolly  believed  what  she  said  and  felt  a  real 
pity  for  the  prisoners.  She  broke  down.  A  sob 
choked  her.  Her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  She  stopped 
speaking. 

Then,  after  a  brief  pause,  she  began  again.  A 
torrent  of  words  flowed  rapidly  from  her  lips.  The 
men  in  prison  were  sharing  the  fate  of  all  true  Irish- 
men. Always  through  all  the  phases  of  her  history 
Ireland  had  been  martyred  in  the  persons  of  her  sons. 
Ireland — her  voice  fell  upon  a  deep  note  as  she  spoke — 
was  and  always  had  been  enslaved,  tortured,  starved, 
insulted. 

A  sudden  inspiration  came  on  her.  With  a  fine 
gesture  she  seized  the  corner  of  the  cloak  in  which 
she  had  wrapped  the  boy  she  held  in  her  arms.  She 
flung  it  back,  from  her  shoulder.  She  held  the  boy 
high. 

"  This  is  Ireland,"  she  cried.  ''  Look  and  under- 
stand." 

The  button  at  the  neck  of  the  coat  which  the  boy 
wore  had  slipped  from  its  hole.  The  garment  fell 
open.  The  boy's  neck  and  chest  were  exposed  naked. 
He  was  so  thin  that  the  bones  seemed  to  be  pushing 
their  way  through  his  skin.  He  was  filthy.  Below 
the  tattered  skirt  of  the  coat  his  feet  and  legs  dangled. 

For  Miss  Conolly  it  was  a  moment  of  emotion  be- 
yond all  power  of  utterance.  She  raged  with  tumultu- 
ously  throbbing  pulses  against  a  multitude  of  wrongs. 
She  was  rapt,  ecstatic. 

A  young  woman  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd 
giggled.    The  sight  of  the  half -naked  child  wriggling 


20  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

in  the  arms  of  the  finely  dressed  girl  struck  her  as 
funny.  A  grin  passed  from  face  to  face  in  the  crowd 
and  then  many  women  laughed  aloud.  The  boy 
struggled  fiercely  and  beat  against  Miss  Conolly's  face 
with  his  hands. 

''Let  me  go,  will  you/*  he  said.  "  Leave  go  of  me, 
now,  or  by  the  Holy  Virgin  I'll  spit  in  your  face.  Do 
you  want  to  have  every  one  laughing  at  me  ?  Leave 
go.  I  say." 

After  the  manner  of  the  Hebrew  prophets  Miss 
Conolly  had  chosen  a  visible  symbol  for  the  presenta- 
tion of  her  message  to  the  people.  Her  choice  had 
justified  itself  beyond  her  intent.  The  police  inspec- 
tor who  stood  at  hand  was  a  stupid  man.  Had  he 
been  a  clever  and  malicious  one  he  might  have  re- 
peated her  own  words  to  her.  "  This  is  Ireland. 
Look  and  understand." 

Alfred  Patterson  took  the  boy  from  her  arms  and 
set  him  on  the  ground.  Miss  Conolly,  bewildered 
and  much  dishevelled,  stepped  from  her  pedestal. 
The  crowd  stared  and  laughed.  Then,  suddenly,  all 
faces  were  turned  away.  A  fresh  comedy  promised 
amusement  at  the  upper  end  of  the  street.  A  young 
officer  in  a  nice  new  uniform,  a  pretty  boy  with  pink 
cheeks  and  a  hairless  upper  lip,  turned  into  the  street 
from  a  neighbouring  square.  He  was  on  his  way  to 
a  house  at  which  he  meant  to  pay  a  visit  and  drink 
tea.  He  paused  for  a  moment  when  he  saw  the  crowd. 
Before  he  made  up  his  mind  to  go  on  or  go  back  a 
tall  virago  of  a  woman,  elderly,  grizzled  and  very 
strong,  stepped  up  to  him.    Without  speaking  a  word 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  21 

she  flung  her  arms  round  him  and  drew  him  to  her. 
She  looked  over  her  shoulder  to  the  grinning 
crowd. 

**  Look  at  him,"  she  said,  "  look  at  the  way  he's 
behaving  to  me,  and  his  mother's  milk  no  more  than 
dry  on  the  lips  of  him." 

Then,  still  holding  him  fast,  she  spoke  to  him. 

*'  Aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourself,"  she  said,  *'  to 
be  treating  a  poor  girl  this  way,  after  all  Lord  Kit- 
chener said  to  you  about  behaving  proper  to  any 
woman  you  might  meet  out  at  the  war  ?  " 

A  great  shout  of  laughter  burst  from  the  crowd. 
The  young  man,  crimson  in  the  face  and  horrified, 
wrenched  himself  free  from  the  woman's  grasp,  and 
fled. 

The  police,  breaking  their  ranks,  moved  in  ones  and 
twos,  through  the  crowd. 

**  Get  along  home  with  you  now,"  they  said. 

**  The  fun's  over  for  this  day  and  you  may  as  well 
be  going,"  they  said. 

They  were  heavily  good-humoured,  altogether  paci- 
fic and  friendly.  They  lent  supporting  hands  to  men 
unsteady  on  their  feet,  conducting  them  quietly  along 
the  street.  They  reminded  young  women  that  their 
children  should  be  taken  home  and  put  to  bed.  They 
told  withered  crones  that  they  ought  to  be  careful 
about  their  characters  and  should  not  be  abroad  in 
the  streets  after  dark.  The  crowd  dispersed.  The 
volunteers,  their  pipers  playing  in  front  of  them, 
marched  off.  Miss  Conolly's  car  waited  for  her.  The 
driver  had  removed  the  flags  which  decked  it  and 


22  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

had  taken  the  ribbons  from  his  whip.  The  police 
inspector,  courteous  to  the  daughter  of  Sir  Ulick 
Conolly,  offered  to  help  her  to  her  seat.  She  ignored 
the  hand  he  held  out.  She  signed  to  Peter  Maillia  to 
sit  beside  her. 


CHAPTER  II 

SIR  ULICK  sat  up  with  a  slight  start  when  his 
study  and  switched  on  the  electric  light.    ''Come 
in,  Tom,"  he  said.    "  Come  in.    We'll  have  our 
coffee  here." 

Captain  Bryan  limped  slowly  across  the  hall  lean- 
ing heavily  on  his  sticks.  He  was  in  uniform  and 
wore  the  hospital  blue  band  on  his  sleeve. 

"  Come  along,  Tom,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  ''  and  make 
yourself  comfortable." 

There  was  every  promise  of  comfort  in  the  room. 
The  fire  burned  brightly.  Deep  leather-covered  chairs 
stood  in  front  of  it.  The  carpet  was  thick  and  soft. 
The  air  held  the  memory  of  good  cigars,  very  pleasant 
to  men  who  had  dined. 

Tom  Bryan  hobbled  across  the  room  and  dropped 
heavily  into  one  of  the  chairs.  Sir  Ulick  sat  down 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  fire  and  unfastened  the 
four  buttons  of  his  waistcoat.  He  had  dined  ;  and 
the  dinner,  even  the  war-time  dinner,  of  a  w^ell-paid 
Government  official  in  Ireland  produces  a  certain  pres- 
sure. The  ease  w-hich  follows  unbuttoning  is  grateful. 
Sir  Ulick  sighed  comfortably. 

A  servant  brought  coffee.  He  brought  brandy  as 
well  as  coffee.  He  set  cigarettes  in  a  silver  case  and 
cigars  in  the  wooden  box  of  their  maker  on  a  small 
table  between  Sir  Ulick  and  his  nephew. 

23 


24  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

"  This,"  said  Tom  Bryan,  "  is  good.  After  France 
it's  particularly  good.  You  people  at  home  have 
rather  the  best  of  it,  you  know,  Uncle  Ulick." 

It  certainly  seemed  that  Sir  Ulick,  compared,  for 
instance,  to  a  captain  of  infantry,  had  the  pleasanter 
lot.  A  high  Government  official  in  Ireland  draws  a 
good  salary.  He  acquires  in  time  a  minor  title,  which 
is  gratifying.  He  is  treated  wdth  great  respect  by 
every  one  who  wants  a  post  under  the  Government 
or  a  better  post  than  he  already  has,  that  is,  by  most 
of  the  inhabitants  of  Ireland.  He  lives  in,  or  more 
probably  near  Dublin;  and  Dublin  is  a  city  where  men 
understand  the  art  of  living  without  fuss  or  unneces- 
sary trouble.  Yet  in  reply  to  his  nephew's  remark 
Sir  Ulick  sighed  again,  this  time  a  little  wearily. 

"  Governing  Ireland  isn't  such  a  soft  job  as  you 
think,  Tom,"  he  said.  "There  are  times  when  I'd 
almost  rather  be  out  there  with  you  in  the  trenches." 

Ireland — no  one  can  help  personifying  Ireland — is 
a  lady  with  seductive  eyes  and  alluring  ways.  Many 
men,  when  young,  fall  in  love  with  her.  But  Ireland, 
like  other  pretty  ladies,  has  an  uncertain  temper. 
Sometimes,  unexpectedly  and  for  no  very  obvious  rea- 
son, she  becomes  rampageous.  Like  a  cow  stung  on 
a  summer  afternoon  she  gads,  tail  aloft  and  stiff,  gal- 
loping from  end  to  end  of  her  field,  blowing  hot  air 
from  distended  nostrils,  tramping  succulent  pasture 
underfoot. 

Tom  Bryan  noticed  his  uncle's  sigh  and  was  sympa- 
thetic. 

"  When  the  Boche  sends  over  heavy  stuff,"  he  said, 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  25 

"we  ring  up  our  guns  and  ask  for  retaliation.  Why 
don't  you  try  strafing  back?  Strafing  the  what-do- 
you-call-em  fellows,  I  mean,  Mona's  friends,  the  Sinn 
Feiners." 

He  spoke  without  any  bitterness.  He  was  not  a 
young  man  who  felt  bitterly  even  about  Germans. 
He  thought  without  rancour  of  the  Boche  as  a  flatu- 
lent and  unwholesome  person  whom  it  w^as  necessary 
to  hammer.  He  had  no  violent  grudge  against  the 
Sinn  Feiners,  w^ho  seemed  to  him  merely  verbose  and 
tiresome.  He  even  supposed  that  there  must  be  some 
good  points  about  them  since  they  were  Mona's 
friends. 

Mona  was  Sir  Ulick's  daughter.  She  inherited,  so 
people  said,  her  father's  brains,  and  a  man  must  have 
some  brains  to  rise  to  the  position  which  Sir  UHck 
held.  She  certainly  inherited  her  mother's  romantic 
disposition.  Lady  ConoUy,  w^ho  died  ^vhen  Mona  was 
fifteen,  was  an  Englishwoman,  deeply,  passionately  in- 
terested in  Ireland.  Mona  was  educated  in  England, 
in  one  of  those  new  schools  in  which  girls  are  taught 
that  they  have  a  serious  mission  in  life.  From  school 
she. passed  to  St.  Margaret's  Hall,  thus  escaping  the 
east  wind  of  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  a  blast  very  brac- 
ing to  some  natures,  to  lawyer-politicians  for  instance, 
but  utterly  destructive  of  romance.  She  returned  to 
Dublin  at  the  age  of  twenty-two,  having  read  all  Mr. 
Yeats's  poetry  and  many  thousands  of  lyrics  by  minor 
men.  She  became  a  warm  admirer  of  the  drama  of 
the  Abbey  Theatre.  She  passed  on  to  the  study  of  the 
Irish  language.     She  founded  and  became  the  first 


26  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

president  of  a  society  called  the  Cailini  na  h'Eirinn. 
It  existed  to  discourage  the  use  of  the  English  lan- 
guage. All  its  members  were  under  a  pledge  to  speak 
Irish  only  and  at  all  times.  If  Irish  failed  them,  as 
it  often  did,  they  fell  back  on  French.  Only  in  desper- 
ate emergencies,  when  shopping,  for  instance,  or  buy- 
ing railway  tickets,  or  in  holding  necessary  converse 
with  unregenerate  persons  like  Sir  Ulick,  was  English 
permissible. 

Tom  Bryan  lay  back  in  his  chair  and  sipped  the 
last  drop  of  brandy  from  his  glass. 

"  Can't  understand,"  he  said,  ''  why  you  don't  strafe 
'em  back." 

Sir  Ulick  smiled.  Statesmen,  experienced  in  the 
nice  art  of  government,  are  inclined  to  smile  at  the 
simplicity  of  soldiers.  Strafing  back  sounds  pleasant, 
and  is  no  doubt  in  accord  with  the  principles  of  natural 
justice.  There  are,  however,  almost  always  good  rea- 
sons for  not  doing  it.  Soldiers  and  other  simple 
minded  people  cannot  appreciate  or  even  understand 
the  reasons. 

Sir  Ulick  was  not  inclined  to  discuss  the  art  of 
politics  after  dinner.  He  preferred  to  take  up  another 
point  in  his  nephew'*s  remark. 

"  Mona,"  he  said,  "  is  not  precisely  a  Sinn  Feiner, 
at  least  I  hope  not.  It's  a  little  difficult  to  understand 
her  position.  It  changes  rather  rapidly.  But  the  last 
time  I  had  a  talk  with  her  she  said  she  hated  all  poli- 
tics and  despised  all  politicians." 

"  Mona  always  was  brainy,"  said  Tom.  "Much  too 
brainy  for  me." 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  2'j 

He  did  not  resent  the  fact  that  Mona  had  gone  away 
in  the  middle  of  dinner  leaving  her  father  and  her 
cousin  in  order  to  attend  a  meeting  of  the  Cailini. 
Extremely  ''  brainy  "  people  did  these  uncomfortable 

things. 

''  Last  time  I  saw  her,"  Tom  went  on,  ''  just  before 
I  went  out,  she  regularly  withered  me  up,  with  a 
glance,  you  know,  like  those  women  in  the  classical 
dictionaries  who  turned  fellows  into  stones  by  just 
looking  at  them.    You  know  the  people." 

"  Gorgons,"  said  Sir  Ulick. 

''  I  dare  say.  I  don't  remember  their  names.  Any- 
how, that's  practically  what  ]\Iona  did  to  me,  simply 
because  I  chuckled  when  she  told  me  that  old  Joe 
Maillia's  son  had  turned  out  to  be  a  poet.  I  couldn't 
help  chuckling.  Nobody  w^ho  knows  old  Maillia  could. 
He's  such  an  amusing  old  blighter  w^hen  drunk.  I  say, 
Uncle  Ulick,  you  don't  think  Joe  Maillia's  son  could 
be  a  poet,  do  you?  " 

"  In  Ireland,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  "  everybody  is  a  poet, 
except  me,  and  I  fully  expect  I  shall  be  before  I 
die." 

The  servant  entered,  bringing  with  him  the  latest 
edition  of  the  evening  papers.  There  are  three  eve- 
ning papers  published  in  Dublin.  The  man  gave  one 
to  Tom  Bryan  and  the  other  two  to  Sir  Ulick.  Then 
he  busied  himself  wath  the  coffee  cups  and  liqueur 
glasses. 

Dublin  journalism  is  intelligent.  It  is  alive  to  the 
importance  of  topics  of  immediate  public  interest  and 
by  no  means  inclined  to  waste  good  headlines  on  news 


28  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

which  the  public  does  not  particularly  want.  Sir 
Ulick  opened  his  papers  and  discovered  that  the  latest 
victories  of  the  Allies  were  tucked  away  in  obscure 
corners.  The  familiar  report  of  the  well-informed 
neutral  on  the  internal  condition  of  Germany  had  dis- 
appeared altogether.  The  usual  statement  of  a  Cabinet 
Minister  about  the  defeat  of  the  submarines  was  con- 
densed into  the  shortest  of  paragraphs.  Large  head- 
lines, as  exciting  as  the  beating  of  drums,  called  the 
world^s  attention  to  the  "  Kilmainham  Murder." 
There  was  a  long  letter  from  a  priest  somewhere  in 
Roscommon  urging  the  Irish  people  to  arm  and  avenge 
the  blood  of  the  slaughtered  saint;  being  careful,  while 
doing  so,  to  act  in  accordance  with  the  moral  law  as 
taught  authoritatively  by  the  Catholic  Church.  Reso- 
lutions passed  by  Boards  of  Guardians  and  Urban 
District  Councils  buzzed  over  four  columns  of  the 
paper  like  horseflies  near  pools  on  hot  evenings. 

Sir  Ulick  dropped  the  papers  one  after  the  other. 
When  they  both  lay  on  the  floor  he  kicked  them  aside, 
a  little  petulantly,  with  his  left  foot.  He  was  slightly 
irritated. 

A  prisoner,  whose  name  no  one  knew  a  week  before, 
whose  original  offence  Sir  Ulick  could  not  remember, 
had  died  in  Kilmainham  prison.  Ireland — no  one 
quite  knew  why — rose  up  in  wrath  and  demanded — 
no  one  quite  knew  what — a  sensational  German  victory 
perhaps,  or  an  independent  Irish  Republic,  or  the  Chief 
Secretary's  head  on  a  charger,  or  a  public  funeral, 
with  bands  and  processions,  for  the  dead  man. 

Tom  Bryan  looked  up  from  his  paper. 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  29 

"  I  say,"  he  said,  "  why  on  earth  did  you  let  that 
fellow  die?" 

"  We  didn't  know  he  was  going  to  die,"  said  Sir 
Ulick.  "If  we'd  known  what  he  was  at  we'd  have 
let  him  go,  of  course.  You  don't  suppose  we  wanted 
all  this  fuss?" 

"  If   I'd   been  in  your  shoes,"    said   Tom   Bryan, 

''governing  Ireland  I  mean  and  all  that  sort  of  thing 
fi 

"  I  don't  govern  Ireland,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "  No- 
body governs  Ireland.  Nobody  ever  has  or  ever  will. 
But  go  on.  How  would  you  have  prevented  the  man 
dying  if  you'd  been  in  my  shoes?  " 

"  I'd  have  jolly  well  hanged  him,"  said  Tom  Bryan, 
"before  he  got  the  chance  of  petering  out  in  any 
natural  way.  All  these  fellows  ought  to  be  hanged 
out  of  hand.  There'd  be  far  less  trouble  after- 
wards." 

*'  Very  likely,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "  There  could  hard- 
ly be  more  trouble  anyhow.  The  whole  thing  is  an 
infernal  nuisance.  I've  spent  the  day  reading  police 
reports  from  all  over  the  country  and  now  I've  got  to 
sit  up  half  the  night  drawing  up  a  report  for  the 
Chief  Secretary.  He's  in  London,  of  course.  Al- 
ways is  when  anything  is  happening  here." 

"  Rough  luck,"  said  Tom.  ''  I  simply  loathe  doing 
reports  after  dinner  myself.  But,  I  say,  don't  let 
me  interrupt  you.    Turn  me  out  if  I'm  in  the  way." 

"  I  shall  have  to,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "  There's  a  short- 
hand typing  girl  coming  out  from  my  office  at  nine.  I 
thought  Mona  would  have  been  here  to  look  after 


30  UP,  THE  REBELS  1 

you.  Fm  extremely  sorry,  Tom.  It  seems  most  in- 
hospitable; but  I'll  have  to  tackle  my  job  as  soon  as 
the  girl  turns  up." 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  Tom.  "  I  must  be  back  in 
hospital  at  nine-thirty,  anyhow.  The  rules  and  regu- 
lations of  these  places  are  regular  barbed  wire  en- 
tanglements and  I  don't  want  to  have  a  rag  with  the 
matron.  After  all,  it's  not  her  fault  if  some  silly 
blighter  makes  a  rule  like  that.  I  ordered  a  taxi  for 
nine,  so  you  won't  be  turning  me  out." 

Sir  Ulick  was  not  interested  in  hospital  regulations. 
He  was  thinking  of  his  own  grievance,  of  the  two  or 
three  hours'  work  which  lay  before  him. 

"  If  only  these  Chief  Secretaries  would  stay  in  Ire- 
land," he  said.  "  They  used  to  at  one  time,  but  lately 
they  simply  live  at  Westminster  and  we  have  to  keep 
on  writing  infernal  reports  about  everything  that  hap- 
pens. Tom,  the  bell's  at  your  hand.  Just  ring  it, 
will  you?" 

Chief  Secretaries,  though  Sir  UHck  and  others 
suffer,  must  not  be  blamed  for  preferring  London  to 
Dublin.  They  say,  with  perfect  truth,  that  they  can- 
not govern  Ireland.  As  honest  men,  more  honest 
than  their  predecessors  in  the  nineteenth  century,  they 
do  not  pretend  to  try.  They  prefer  the  sham  fights 
and  real  intrigues  at  Westminster  to  the  nerve-shatter- 
ing shocks  which  they  would  certainly  suffer  in  Dublin 
Castle. 

"  Gafferty,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  when  the  servant  came 
in,  "  I'm  expecting  Miss  Murphy  at  nine.  Show  her 
in  here  as  soon  as  she  comes,  and  see  that  her  room  is 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  31 

ready  for  her.     She'll  have  to  sleep  here  to-night.     I 
can't  send  her  back  to  Dublin." 

Sir  Ulick  lived  four  miles  from  Dublin  in  a  good 
house  surrounded  with  pleasant  grounds.  Of  late 
years,  since  motor  cars  became  reliable,  it  has  been 
possible  for  busy  men  to  desert  the  stately  squares  of 
the  city  and  to  make  their  homes  in  places  which  are 
almost  rural.  There  has  been  a  certain  loss  to  the 
social  life  of  Dublin;  but,  no  doubt,  a  compensating 
gain  in  the  improved  health  and  efficiency  of  men  of 
the  wealthier  classes. 

Miss  Murphy,  who  came  out  after  office  hours  to 
work  for  Sir  Ulick,  slept  in  a  small  bedroom  in  the 
servant's  wing  of  the  house  and  kept  a  typewriter  in 
Mona's  old  schoolroom. 

"  And,  Gafferty,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  "  tell  Watkins  that 
he's  to  have  the  car  ready  in  the  morning  to  take  a 
dispatch  down  to  the  mail  boat." 

'That,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  turning  to  Tom  Bryan,  "  is 
the  way  we  work.  I  dictate  an  account  of  the  events 
of  the  day  to  Miss  Murphy.  She  types  the  stuff  out 
and  it  goes  off  by  the  morning  boat  to  London." 

Sir  Ulick  did  not  add  that  it  was  also  his  duty  to 
suggest  how  the  Government  ought  to  meet  the  situa- 
tion and  what  line  it  should  take.  This  was  a  trouble- 
some and  thankless  task.  Englishmen — Chief  Secre- 
taries are  never  Irish — are  restless  creatures.  They 
insist  on  trying  to  do  things  in  Ireland.  Sir  Ulick  in- 
variably advised  them  not  to  do  the  things  that  they 
had  set  their  heart  on.  They  invariably  neglected  his 
advice  and  plunged  boldly  into  action  of  some  kind. 


32  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

Troubie  followed.  Sir  Uiick  knew  beforehand  that 
trouble  would  follow,  and  said  so.  The  Chief  Secre- 
tar!:-,  s:- !  :  ^:r  London  friends  were  nevertheless 
i!  •,  v/:  r.ir.".:i  and  bewildered  by  the  trouble.  They 
turned  to  Sir  Ulick  to  ask  pathetically  what  was  to  be 
cor.e  next.  Then  Sir  Ulick,  with  the  aid  of  Miss 
Murpliy,  risking  his  digestion  and  his  night's  sleep, 
drew  1^  long  reports.  Then  Watkins,  Sir  Ulick's 
dumffetir,  cursing  Ireland  and  all  Governments,  got 
up  early  and  carried  the  dispatch  down  to  the  mail 
boat 


CHAPTER  III 

MISS  MURPHY  was  the  most  intelligent  of 
the  three  girls  who  did  typewriting  in  Sir 
Ulick's  office.  Therefore,  she  had  the  privi- 
lege of  working  after  hours  in  Sir  Ulick's  private 
house  whenever  Irish  affairs  were  particularly  urgent. 
In  this  way  she  earned  a  good  deal  of  extra  pay.  Ire- 
land is  an  exacting  mistress  to  serve.  Those  who 
take  a  part,  even  a  humble  part,  in  conducting  her 
affairs,  must  expect  to  work  overtime.  They  also 
expect  to  Ixi  well  paid  for  the  sacrifice  of  their  leisure 
and  are  seldom  disappointed. 

Being  intelligent  and  young,  Miss  Murphy  was  pro- 
foundly dissatisfied  with  the  world  as  she  found  it. 
In  England,  before  the  war,  she  would  have  been  a 
Suffragette  or  a  Socialist,  perhaps  both.  In  Ireland 
she  became  a  Nationalist  of  an  extreme  and  unortho- 
dox kind.  She  scoffed  openly  at  Mr.  Redmond  and 
spoke  contemptuously  of  Mr.  Dillon  as  an  anachron- 
ism. She  believed  that  the  Magyars  of  Hungary  were 
the  friends  of  human  liberty.  She  was  a  member  of 
several  societies  and  the  secretary,  honorary,  of  the 
Cailini  na  h'Eirinn.  Sir  Ulick  knew  her  as  Miss  Mur- 
phy, and  may  have  been  aware  that  her  Christian 
name  was  Ellen.  To  the  rest  of  the  world — her  world 
— she  was  Eibhlin  O'Murchada,  refusing  very  proper- 

33 


34  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

ly  to  recognize  the  English  corruption  of  her  name. 
Eibhlin  O'Murchada  was  in  love,  but  not  with  Peter 
Maillia  who  impatiently  sought  her  affection,  nor  with 
any  other  man.  She  had  a  romantic  passion  for  Mona 
Conolly.  Schoolgirls  are  often  devoted  in  this  way 
to  other  girls  older  than  themselves  or  to  junior  mis- 
tresses. In  the  case  of  Eibhlin  the  infatuation  came 
rather  later  in  life  than  usual.  It  was  an  excusable 
passion,  for  Mona  was  a  very  splendid  person  who 
made  every  kind  of  appeal  to  a  girl  like  Eibhlin.  Be- 
longing by  birth  to  the  governing  class  and  brought 
up  a  Protestant,  she  had  come  boldly  forth — a  female 
Moses  from  the  palace  of  Pharaoh,  or  a  new  Lord 
Edward  Fitzgerald  from  the  mansions  of  the  aristoc- 
racy— to  take  her  place  with  the  oppressed  serfs  who 
made  bricks  or  tapped  typewriters  for  their  task- 
masters. It  was  in  this  way,  as  a  splendid  renuncia- 
tion, that  Mona's  patriotism  struck  Eibhlin. 

There  was  also  a  further  appeal.  Mona  was  a 
singularly  handsome  young  woman,  tall  and  stately. 
Her  figure  would  have  attracted  the  notice  of  a  sculp- 
tor with  an  order  in  hand  for  a  statue  of  Juno,  and 
Eibhlin  did  not  know  that  Lady  Conolly  had  been 
somewhat  ponderous  before  she  died.  And  Mona's 
clothes  were  wonderful.  She  w^ore  heavy  dark  ma- 
terial of  a  velvety  kind  which  hung  in  long  folds,  as 
dignified  as  the  folds  of  dossal  hangings  behind  altars. 
Large  brooches  of  dull  silver,  purely  Celtic  in  design, 
held  her  draperies  in  place.  Her  style  of  hairdressing 
was  copied  from  that  of  an  age  in  which  hairpins  were 
rare  and  costly  luxuries.    She  used  very  few  of  them. 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  35 

Thick  shining  dark  tresses  hung  over  her  ears.  The 
main  part  of  her  hair  was  gathered  in  an  irregularly 
shaped  bundle  on  the  nape  of  her  neck.  The  general 
cfifect — so  Eibhlin  said — was  queenly  and  distinctively 
Irish.  It  was  certainly  distinctive.  It  was  so  far  Irish 
that  no  one,  meeting  her  in  the  street,  would  have 
suspected  her  for  a  moment  of  being  an  English- 
woman. 

Eibhlin  greatly  admired  this  way  of  dressing,  but 
she  did  not  attempt  to  imitate  it.  Her  figure  was 
not  sufficiently  regal  for  heavy  draperies.  Her  hair, 
if  it  were  to  look  its  best,  required  waving  and  careful 
pinning.  Besides,  Gaelic  clothes  cost  more  than 
Eibhlin  could  afford  to  spend,  even  at  the  best  of 
times  when  Sir  Ulick  had  much  overtime  work  for 
her  to  do.  Desirable  blouses  of  muslin  or  thin  silk, 
even  coats  and  skirts  occasionally,  can  be  picked  up 
at  cheap  sales.  An  Irish  "  brath,"  if  bought  at  all, 
must  be  bought  at  its  full  price.  No  such  garments 
ever  appear  on  bargain  counters. 

Mona  Conolly  presided  at  a  meeting  of  the  Cailini 
na  h'Eirinn.  It  was  a  very  important  meeting,  and 
she  felt  that  she  had  done  well  to  leave  half  her  dinner 
uneaten  and  to  desert  her  father  and  cousin.  Wat- 
kins,  the  chauffeur,  who  drove  her  into  Dublin  and 
waited  for  her  in  a  draughty  garage,  cursed  the  Cailini 
and  all  their  doings.  But  Watkins  was  an  Englishman 
and  therefore  incapable  of  understanding  anything 
Irish.  Eibhlin,  thoroughly  convinced  of  the  enormous 
importance  of  the  meeting,  sat  beside  Mona  and  made 
notes  of  the  proceedings  for  the  minute  book. 


36  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

By  the  articles  of  its  constitution  the  Cailini  na 
h'Eirinn  was  strictly  a  non-political  society.  In  Ire- 
land almost  every  society  is  non-political  by  the  articles 
of  its  constitution.  But  every  now  and  then  the  ques- 
tion arises  What  is  politics.  Like  the  conundrums 
with  which  the  English  judges  used  to  amuse  them- 
selves before  the  war — What  is  whisky?  What  is  a 
sardine? — this  question  gives  great  opportunity  for 
argument.  The  Cailini  found  themselves  plunged  into 
a  debate  which  might  have  been  endless,  by  an  invita- 
tion received  from  one  of  the  few  societies  in  Ireland 
which  is  political.  A  demonstration,  huge  and  very 
impressive,  was  to  be  held  in  Dublin  on  the  following 
Sunday  to  protest  against  the  murder  of  the  prisoner 
in  Kilmainham.  The  Cailini  were  invited  to  take  part 
in  the  procession.  Did  the  constitution  of  the  so- 
ciety permit  of  such  action  ? 

The  question  was  really  decided  by  a  pallid  young 
woman  with  a  severe  cold  in  her  head.  She  was  a 
new  member  of  the  society,  and  when  she  stood  up 
no  one  knew  who  she  was.  At  first  she  did  nothing 
but  blow  her  nose.  Then  she  managed  to  say  that 
she  was  the  sister  of  the  murdered  man.  After  that 
she  broke  down  completely  and  cried.  She  looked 
very  forlorn  and  helpless.  She  was  certainly  ill.  She 
appeared  to  be  poor,  half  fed  and  insufficiently  clothed 
in  garments  which  were  genteel  but  not  warm.  Every 
member  of  the  society  felt  sorry  for  her.  Mona  was 
moved  to  a  deep  pity.  She  experienced  a  physical 
shock,  as  if  a  cold  hand  had  clasped  and  held  her. 
When  the  girl,  coughing  and  sobbing,  dropped  back 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  37 

into  her  seat,  the  action  of  the  society  was  decided  in 
every  mind. 

Eibhlin  O'Murchada,  less  moved  than  Mona  by  the 
girl's  sorrow,  made  a  clever  speecli.  She  pointed  out 
that  murder  was  not,  properly  speaking,  politics,  and 
therefore  a  protest  against  murder  could  not  be  called 
politics  either.  No  one  examined  her  argument  with 
any  care.  A  resolution  was  proposed  and  carried 
unanimously  which  pledged  the  society  to  march  on 
the  following  Sunday  in  the  ranks  of  a  United  Ireland. 
Mona,  declaring  the  resolution  carried,  said  that  she 
herself  would  march  at  the  head  of  the  Cailini.  She 
named  Eibhlin  as  her  adjutant  and  Eibhlin  nodded 
her  acceptance  of  the  post.  It  was  understood,  of 
course,  that  she  could  not  join  the  procession  if  she 
happened  to  be  engaged  at  the  time  in  drawing  up  in- 
struments of  government  wuth  Sir  Ulick. 

Peter  IMaillia  waited  outside  the  door  of  the  room 
in  which  the  Cailini  met.  He  hoped  to  be  allowed  to 
escort  Eibhlin  home  when  the  meeting  w^as  over.  He 
was  disappointed  when  he  found  that  she  was  going 
out  to  Sir  Ulick's  house  and  that  the  motor  was  wait- 
ing in  the  street  for  her  and  Miss  Conolly.  He  man- 
aged to  have  a  few  words  with  Eibhlin  while  they 
stood  together  in  the  passage  waiting  for  Miss 
Conolly.  This  was  some  comfort  to  him  although 
Eibhlin,  excited  by  the  meeting,  was  in  no  mood  for 
flirtation.  Miss  Conolly,  too,  was  excited.  When 
the  meeting  was  over  she  sought  out  the  girl  who 
mourned  the  death  of  her  brother.  She  shed  tears 
of  passionate  sympathy  while  the  girl   snuffled   and 


38  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

coughed.  At  last  she  took  off  a  fur-lined  coat  which 
she  wore  and  wrapped  it  round  the  girl's  shoulders. 
A  coat,  even  if  fur-lined,  is  no  cure  for  a  broken 
heart;  but  it  may  very  well  mitigate  the  severity  of 
a  cold.  The  girl  and  every  one  who  watched  the 
little  scene  understood  that  the  coat  was  a  gift,  not 
merely  a  loan.  Miss  Conolly,  who  fully  meant  to 
give  away  the  coat,  joined  Eibhlin  in  the  passage. 
She  felt  chilly  about  the  shoulders,  but  her  heart  was 
hot  with  sympathy,  indignation  and  the  sense  of  a 
good  deed  done.  She  caught  sight  of  Peter  Maillia 
lingering  beside  Eibhlin. 

"  Come  back  with  us,"  she  said.  **  Come  and 
have  supper.  There's  plenty  of  room  in  the 
car.*' 

Peter  hesitated.  The  idea  of  sitting  opposite  Miss 
Conolly  in  a  motor  car  embarrassed  him.  She  was 
a  very  fine  lady.  The  car  was  large  and  sumptuous. 
Miss  Conolly's  way  of  calling  him  by  his  Christian 
name — Irished  into  Peadair — did  nothing  to  put  him 
at  his  ease.  He  felt  that  he  could  never  address  her 
as  Mona,  and  the  Irish  language,  which  is  an  intimate 
and  friendly  tongue,  has  no  equivalent  for  the  Eng- 
lish "  miss." 

Mona  insisted  that  he  should  accept  the  invitation. 
She  wanted  to  talk  and  to  listen  to  talk.  Also  she 
felt  that  in  inviting  Peter  Maillia  to  supper  she  was 
doing  something  to  break  down  the  system  of  class 
distinctions.  Peter  Maillia  was  a  student  in  the  newly 
formed  National  University  which  is  quite  a  respect- 
able thing  to  be.     But  his  father,  old  Maillia,  Tom 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  59 

Bryan's  friend,  was  a  publican  in  the  little  town  of 
Dunally,  a  man  who  would  certainly  not  be  likely  to 
dine  or  sup  in  Sir  Ulick's  house,  except  perhaps  in 
the  ser\'ants'  hall.  But  Mona,  having  presented  her 
coat  to  a  shivering  girl,  was  in  the  mood  for  daring 
effort,  and  there  is  something  fine,  finer  than  the  gift 
of  a  cloak,  in  outraging  middle-class  convention  by 
sitting  down  to  supper  with  the  son  of  a  country  pub- 
lican. Middle-class  convention,  like  other  evil  things, 
has  its  origin  in  England,  and  this  is  an  excellent 
reason  for  shattering  it.  Her  father's  butler  would, 
of  course,  bring  the  supper  when  she  gave  the  order, 
and  he  would  not  be  in\nted  to  share  it.  Later  on  a 
maid  would  unbutton  Mona's  boots  for  her,  though 
she  would  not  in  turn  unbutton  the  maid's  boots.  But 
no  principles,  not  even  those  of  social  equality,  can  be 
pressed  too  far. 

Peter  was  still  further  embarrassed  when  he  found 
that  he  would  have  to  sup  alone  with  Miss  Conolly. 
The  butler  met  the  party  at  the  door  and  told  Eibhlin 
firmly,  even  sternly,  that  Sir  Ulick  was  waiting  for 
her.  Eibhlin,  in  spite  of  Mona's  protests,  dragged 
oflF  her  gloves  and  hurried  to  Sir  Ulick's  study.  To 
defy  governments  and  challenge  the  might  of  empires 
by  walking  in  revolutionary  processions  is  one  thing, 
a  glorious  and  splendid  thing.  To  risk  a  valuable 
source  of  income  by  unpunctuality  and  disobedience  is 
quite  another  thing  and  merely  foolish.  Eibhlin 
O'Murchada  was  prepared  for  martyrdom  in  the 
heroic  manner.  Ellen  Murphy  knew  accurately  the 
value  of  pay  for  overtime  work. 


40  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

Peter  Maillia  made  an  uncomfortable  meal,  though 
the  cold  meat  was  excellent.  The  butler,  standing 
behind  Miss  Conolly's  chair,  embarrassed  him  seri- 
ously. Nor  was  he  much  more  comfortable  when 
Mona  led  him  into  her  own  room  afterwards  and  set 
him  in  a  deep  soft  chair  before  the  fire.  She  gave 
him  cigarettes,  and  he  did  not  like  her  cigarettes  which 
were  of  a  foreign  kind.  She  smoked  herself  and 
that  did  not  put  him  at  his  ease.  There  is  a  vein  of 
Puritanism  in  the  Irish  people  and  Peter  was  not  ac- 
customed to  young  women  who  smoke.  A  girl  with 
a  cigarette  between  her  lips  did  not  seem  to  him  quite 
respectable.  In  Dublin  Peter  lived  in  a  hostel  managed 
by  the  members  of  a  religious  order.  The  good 
Fathers  aimed  at  preserving  a  high  moral  tone  among 
the  young  men  who  came  up  to  attend  classes  at  the 
university.  They  were  constant  in  their  warnings 
against  the  temptations  of  a  great  city.  Peter  had 
a  feeling,  not  clearly  formulated  but  difficult  to  get 
rid  of,  that  the  temptations  of  a  great  city  some- 
times take  shape  as  beautiful  girls  who  smoke 
cigarettes. 

He  stirred  uneasily  in  the  chair  in  which  he  sat. 
The  material  with  which  it  was  covered  felt  soft  and 
seductive  to  his  hands.  The  Persian  rug,  delicately 
coloured,  faintly  patterned,  felt  soft  under  his  feet. 
This  was  luxury;  and  luxury  in  the  teaching  of  the 
Fathers  in  the  hostel  was  closely  associated  with  vice. 
On  the  wall  beside  him  hung  a  large  print  of  Watts' 
"  Love  and  Life."  Peter  glanced  at  it  once  and  then 
turned  his  head  away.     Well-brought-up  young  men 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  41 

in  Ireland  are  not  accustomed  to  seeing  either  love  or 
life  without  clothes  on. 

Mona  talked  largely,  eloquently,  about  Ireland, 
about  revolution,  political  and  social,  about  freedom, 
about  the  daring  of  noble  spirits.  Peter  listened  un- 
comfortably. He  was  a  revolutionary  too.  He 
dreamed  of  an  Irish  Republic,  free  and  independent, 
a  shining  youngest  sister  in  the  family  of  nations. 
His  was  a  lofty  spirit  and  he  would  dare  greatly. 
But  he  had  a  soul  to  save  and  he  never  forgot  that. 
He  was  acutely  and  most  uncomfortably  anxious  about 
his  soul  while  he  sat  listening  to  Miss  Conolly.  Irish 
souls  only  feel  happy  about  their  salvation  when 
wrapped  up  in  long  garments  made  of  puritan  fabrics 
and  trimmed  with  Catholic  phraseology.  What,  after 
all,  will  it  profit  a  man  though  he  make  a  revolution 
and  found  a  republic  if  he  lose  his  own  soul? 
And  Miss  Conolly  went  on  smoking,  cigarette  after 
cigarette.  Also  the  young  lady  in  the  picture — Peter 
was  not  quite  sure  whether  she  represented  love  or 
life — really  ought  to  have  something  on. 

One  consideration  alone  kept  Peter's  conscience 
from  utter  revolt.  All  moralists  and  all  preachers 
agree  that  luxury  and  vice  are  pleasant  and  that  sin 
is  most  enjoyable.  Peter  was  certainly  not  enjoying 
himself.  If  Miss  Conolly,  her  cigarettes,  her  room 
and  her  pictures  w^ere  to  be  reckoned  among  the  temp- 
tations of  a  great  city  then  the  seductiveness  of  temp- 
tation was  greatly  over-rated. 

At  half-past  ten  Peter  said  good  night.  He  had  a 
four  mile  walk  before  him  and  it  w^as  raining  heavily. 


42  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

Mona  had  not  remembered  about  the  walk  back  and 
had  not  considered  the  weather  when  she  invited  him 
to  supper  and  drove  him  out  in  her  motor.  In  their 
earnest  desire  to  break  down  class  distinctions  our 
wealthier  reformers  often  forget  these  little  things. 


CHAPTER  IV 

SIR  ULICK  CONOLLY  opened  the  door  of  his 
secretary,  quickly  following  her  knock  at  the 
door,  entered  the  room.  He  had  dropped  into 
a  pleasant  dose  after  Tom  Bryan  left  him.  His  waist- 
coat was  still  unbuttoned.  His  tie  had  slipped  a  litde 
way  round  his  collar.  He  felt  much  disinclined  to 
set  to  work. 

"  Good  evening,  Miss  Murphy,"  he  said. 

Eibhlin  moved  briskly  across  the  room  and  sat 
down  at  the  table  at  which  she  usually  wrote.  She 
was  still  excited  by  the  recollection  of  the  meeting 
she  had  attended.  She  was  annoyed  at  missing  what 
seemed  likely  to  be  an  interesting  conversation  in 
Mona's  room.  The  excitement  and  the  annoyance 
together  gave  her  manner  a  touch  of  extra  vigour. 
She  opened  the  attache  case  she  carried  with  a  snap 
of  its  spring  lock.  She  laid  three  pencils  on  the  table, 
one  after  another,  with  sharp  clicks,  plainly  audible 
to  Sir  Ulick.  She  turned  over  the  leaves  of  her  note- 
book with  aggressive  rustlings.  Sir  Ulick  felt  as  if 
a  draught  of  cold  fresh  air  had  blown  into  the  room. 
He  was  effectively  roused. 

He  began  to  dictate,  speaking  slowly  but  without 
any  hesitation.  Occasionally,  not  often,  he  asked 
Eibhlin  to  read  aloud  a  paragraph  which  he  had  dic- 
tated.   He  listened,  but  very  seldom  deleted  a  sentence 

43 


44  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

or  altered  a  word.  He  paused  now  and  then  to  light 
a  cigarette  and  smoked  almost  the  whole  time  he  was 
at  work.  His  dispatch  box  lay  on  a  table  in  the  corner 
of  the  room.  It  was  much  larger  than  the  little  case 
which  Eibhlin  carried.  It  contained  piles  of  police 
reports,  confidential  letters  from  magistrates  and  many 
cuttings  from  newspapers.  Sir  Ulick  had  looked  at 
these  documents  in  an  office  during  the  day.  He 
brought  them  home  with  him  in  order  to  refer  to 
them  while  writing.  But  he  did  not  find  it  necessary 
to  glance  at  a  single  one  of  them.  Without  leaving 
his  chair  or  looking  at  a  note  he  gave  a  complete  and 
quite  dispassionate  account  of  the  state  of  Irish  pub- 
lic opinion. 

He  knew  what  was  being  said  everywhere,  in  the 
committee  rooms  of  various  leagues  in  Dublin,  in 
the  public  houses  of  Connemara  villages,  in  the  pres- 
byteries of  dilapidated  towns  in  the  midlands.  He 
knew  just  how  far  the  priests  were  likely  to  go  in  en- 
couraging the  general  excitement  and  what  kind  of 
action  might  be  expected  from  the  bishops.  He  knew 
more  than  Eibhlin  did,  though  she  was  a  member  of 
the  inner  circle  of  several  societies  of  extreme  Nation- 
alists. She  found  herself  wondering,  not  by  any  means 
for  the  first  time,  at  the  fullness  and  accuracy  of  the 
information  possessed  by  Sir  Ulick.  The  Chief  Secre- 
tary in  London,  the  Cabinet  and  the  select  War  Coun- 
cil, if  its  members  found  time  to  read  the  report, 
would  be  very  correctly  informed  about  Irish  opinion, 
would  know  exactly  what  the  condition  of  the  country 
actually  was — supposing  they  believed  what  Sir  Ulick 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  45 

told  them.  Sir  Ulick,  basing  his  opinion  on  previous 
experience,  thought  it  unhkely  that  they  would  be- 
lieve a  word  he  said. 

Eibhlin  became  a  little  irritated  as  she  realized  how 
thoroughly  Sir  Ulick  knew  what  was  going  on.  He 
knew — she  discovered  this  while  he  dictated  the  latter 
part  of  the  report — exactly  what  plans  had  been  made 
for  the  demonstration  on  the  following  Sunday.  It 
comforted  her  a  little  to  reflect  that  her  friends  would, 
next  day,  be  equally  well  informed  about  the  plans  of 
the  Government.  She  had  a  good  memory,  and  if 
she  did  not  care  to  trust  it  there  was  nothing  to  pre- 
vent her  making  a  copy  for  her  private  use  of  any 
document  she  typed. 

It  is  in  this  way  that  the  game  of  government  and 
revolution  is  played  in  Ireland.  It  may  be  presumed 
that  both  sides  like  the  plan  of  placing  all  their  cards 
face  upward  on  the  table.  If  the  Government  wished 
to  keep  secrets  it  would  not  fill  its  offices,  especially 
its  telegraph  offices,  with  revolutionary  clerks.  If  the 
Nationalists  wanted  to  conceal  their  plans  they  would 
not  make  speeches  about  them  and  print  the  speeches 
afterwards  in  newspapers. 

Eibhlin  paused  in  astonishment  when  Sir  Ulick 
reached  the  final  paragraph  of  his  report. 

"  I  am  inclined  to  advise,"  he  dictated,  "  that  no 
effort  be  made  to  suppress  or  interfere  with  Sunday's 
demonstration.  Let  the  steam  blow  ofl[  freely  and 
there  will  be  no  risk  of  an  explosion." 

It  was  only  for  an  instant  that  Eibhlin  paused  in 
her  writing.     Before   Sir  Ulick  reached  his   second 


-^46  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

sentence  she  was  scrawling  her  curves  and  dashes  with 
jubilant  emphasis.  It  occurred  to  her,  flashed  on  her 
as  a  glorious  discovery,  that  the  Government  was 
afraid  to  act.  This  was  the  meaning  of  Sir  Ulick's 
advice,  a  meaning  scarcely  disguised  by  his  affectation 
of  cynical  contempt. 

"Got  that,  Miss  Murphy?"  said  Sir  Ulick  mildly. 
"  Then  I  think  that  will  do.  I'm  sorry  to  keep  you 
up  so  late,  but  if  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  type  it 
all  out  and  bring  it  to  me  for  signature — then  it  can 
go  by  the  morning  mail." 

Eibhlin  did  not  mind  being  kept  late  at  such  work. 
She  would  joyfully  have  sat  up  all  night  to  type  out 
the  formal  surrender  of  England,  her  renunciation  of 
all  claim  to  govern  Ireland.  Sir  Ulick's  report  seemed 
scarcely  less  than  that.  Ireland  had  defied,  or  on  Sun- 
day afternoon  intended  to  defy,  English  rule.  Eng- 
land's trusted  adviser  on  the  spot  counselled  passive 
submission.  England  shrank,  terrified,  from  contest 
with  the  might  of  the  Irish  people.  Eibhlin  shut  her 
note-book,  snapping  its  clasps  triumphantly,  and  rose. 

Sir  Ulick,  with  an  apology,  asked  her  to  sit  down 
again.  He  recollected  that  the  Chief  Secretary  and 
several  members  of  the  Cabinet  were,  not  unnaturally, 
nervous  about  Ireland.  It  had  been  necessary  in  1916 
to  wreck  a  large  street  in  Dublin  with  gunfire.  It 
would  be  most  unpleasant  to  have  to  bombard  another 
part  of  the  city  in  1917.  He  thought  it  well  to  em- 
phasize his  advice. 

"  Please  add  this,  Miss  Murphy,"  he  said,  "  to  the 
paragraph  youVe  just  taken  down.    '  The  present  situ- 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  47 

ation  is  not  the  least  serious.  A  number  of  boys  and 
girls — particularly  girls — want  a  day  out  and  a  litde 
excitement.  Let  them  have  it,  without  interfering 
with  them,  and  they  will  go  home  in  the  evening  tired 
but  in  excellent  tempers.' " 

Eibhlin  scribbled  down  these  insults  to  the  youth 
of  Ireland  without  resentment.  The  privilege  of  snarl- 
ing may  be  conceded  to  the  whipped  cur.  The  victors 
in  a  contest  can  afford  to  regard  the  railings  of  the 
vanquished  with  magnanimous  contempt.  Sir  Ulick 
remained  entirely  unconscious  of  her  feelings. 

"  That  will  do,  Miss  Alurphy,"  he  said.  "  Yes,  I 
don't  think  I  need  add  anything  more." 

He  yawned.     Eibhlin  left  the  room  jubilant. 

In  spite  of  her  excitement  Eibhlin  w^orked  steadily 
and  well;  but  it  was  half-past  eleven  o'clock  before  the 
report  was  ready  for  signature.  Sir  Ulick  was  half 
asleep  over  a  novel  when  she  returned  to  his  study. 
He  read  through  the  pages  of  type  script  rapidly  and 
only  once  had  to  correct  a  word.  In  the  course  of  a 
long  official  life  Sir  Ulick  had  suffered  much  from 
lady  typists.  He  appreciated  the  blessing  which  Provi- 
dence had  sent  him  in  Miss  Murphy.  There  are  far 
too  many  girls  in  the  world  who  look  upon  commas 
as  unimportant  ornaments  on  the  typewritten  page, 
who  put  them  in  wherever  they  are  likely  to  look 
pretty,  who  regard  their  employers  in  the  same  way 
that  schoolboys  regard  the  classical  authors  whom  they 
translate,  as  annoying  persons  whose  foolish  compo- 
sitions cannot  be  intended  to  make  sense.  Miss  Mur- 
phy appreciated  the   value  of   all   stops.      Even  the 


48  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

dashes,  followed  by  notes  of  exclamation,  which  Sir 
Ulick  used  occasionally  in  his  more  spirited  letters, 
were  things  which  she  could  handle  with  confidence. 
And  she  always  gave  him  credit  for  having  a  meaning 
of  some  sort  in  what  he  dictated.  Her  predecessor 
had  a  way  of  handing  in  pages  of  words  which  read 
like  the  babblings  of  a  congenial  idiot  and  then  look- 
ing pained,  sometimes  even  crying,  when  Sir  Ulick 
tore  them  up.  He  had  never  had  to  tear  up  a  page  of 
Miss  Murphy's  work.  K,  as  Solomon  said,  the  price 
of  a  virtuous  woman  is  far  above  rubies,  Miss  Mur- 
phy's worth  must  be  calculated  in  radium.  Virtue 
is  much  commoner  than  intelligence  among  lady 
typists. 

Sir  Ulick,  like  a  wise  man,  did  his  best  to  make  her 
work  pleasant  to  his  valuable  secretary. 

"  I  hope,"  he  said,  "  you're  not  tired,  Miss  Murphy, 
and  that  I've  not  kept  you  working  too  long." 

"  Thank  you,  Sir  Ulick,  not  at  all." 

Sir  Ulick,  though  sleepy,  noticed  a  certain  excite- 
ment in  the  tone  in  which  she  spoke.  He  supposed, 
mistakenly,  that  she  was  angry  about  something. 

"  You've  done  exceedingly  well,"  he  said.  ''But 
then  you  always  work  well.  Everything  you  do  for 
me  is " 

He  ended  his  sentence  with  a  smile  of  appreciation. 
Eibhlin  tossed  her  head.  Pride  and  flattery  are  pleas- 
ant things;  but  she  was  in  a  mood  so  exultant  that 
no  praise  could  elate  her  further.  Sir  Ulick,  still 
vaguely  aware  that  there  was  something  wrong, 
wished  very  much  that  it  was  possible  for  him  to  tip 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  49 

Miss  Murphy.  Ten  shillings  might  mean  a  good 
deal  to  her.  He  would  not  have  grudged  such  a  sum 
in  the  least.  But  it  is  not  possible  to  tip  a  lady  typist 
in  a  direct,  blunt  manner.  And  Sir  Ulick  had  no 
ladies'  gloves,  or  chocolates  in  his  study. 

''  I  hope,"  he  said,  "  that  you  will  sleep  well  and 
find  everything  comfortable.  Is  there  anything  you'd 
care  for?"  He  looked  round  him  as  he  spoke.  *' A 
small  whisky  and  soda?  But,  of  course  not,  of 
course  not.    Or  a  cigarette  ?  " 

Whisky  and  tobacco  were  the  only  kinds  of  re- 
freshment within  reach,  and  Sir  Ulick  was  not  sure 
whether  it  was  wise  to  offer  such  things.  Apparently 
it  was  not  wuse. 

"  No  thank  you,  Sir  Ulick,'*  said  Eibhlin.  "  Good 
night,  Sir  Ulick.'' 

Sir  Ulick  yawned  uneasily.  Miss  Murphy  was  cer- 
tainly upset  about  something.  He  hoped  that  she 
would  not  announce  next  morning  that  she  meant  to 
leave  his  office.  There  were  at  least  three  men  in 
positions  like  his  own,  highly  placed  officials,  who 
would  be  glad  to  employ  Miss  Murphy.  Sir  Ulick 
had  been  fool  enough  to  boast,  at  the  club  and  else- 
where, of  her  efficiency. 

Sir  Ulick  went  to  bed  and  slept  well.  The  eccen- 
tricities of  Ireland  had  long  ceased  to  astonish,  annoy 
or  even  amuse  him.  They  had  never,  at  any  time  in 
his  life,  kept  him  awake  at  night.  The  governors  of 
Ireland  ought  to  be,  perhaps  actually  are,  chosen  for 
their  powers  of  sleeping  during  troublous  times.  A 
man  who   is  kept   awake  by  anxiety   or   fret  fulness 


50  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

would  not  live  in  Dublin  Castle  long  enough  even  to 
earn  a  knighthood. 

Eibhlin  was  not  sleepy.  She  went  back  to  the  little 
room  which  she  used  as  her  office  and  tidied  up  her 
typewriting  papers.  She  set  aside  a  copy  of  Sir 
Ulick's  report  to  be  filed  for  official  use.  Another 
copy  she  put  into  an  envelope  and  addressed  to  Mr. 
Alfred  Patterson.  Mr.  Patterson  had  for  the  moment 
left  his  bookshop  to  take  care  of  itself  and  gone  to 
London.  It  was  understood  by  Eibhlin  and  his  other 
friends  that  he  was  engaged  in  important  conferences 
with  Sinn  Fein  leaders  who  for  one  reason  or  another 
found  it  convenient  to  live  in  England.  Some  of 
them,  being  civil  servants  engaged  in  collecting  income 
tax  or  customs,  had  to  live  wherever  the  Government 
put  them.  But  their  hearts  were  faithful  to  Ireland 
and  Mr.  Patterson  took  counsel  with  them  from  time 
to  time.  Eibhlin  felt  that  he,  and  they,  ought  to 
know  the  Government's  plans  as  soon  as  possible. 

She  wrote  the  address  of  her  envelope  in  English 
characters,  making  no  attempt  to  Gaelicise  even  Mr. 
Patterson's  name.  Destiny,  among  other  sportive 
tricks,  has  so  arranged  things  that  hardly  any  eminent 
Irish  patriots  have  Irish  names.  In  some  cases  it  is 
impossible  to  make  even  a  plausible  translation  of 
their  names.  No  effort,  for  instance,  will  make  Wolfe 
Tone  look  Irish.  Little  can  be  done  with  Emmet, 
and  Parnell  in  Gaelic  characters  looks  really  grotesque, 
reminding  the  reader  of  the  efforts  made  by  the  Dub- 
lin Corporation  to  post  up  Leeson  Street  or  Baggott 
Street  in  the  script  of  patriotism. 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  51 

The  names  of  the  London  hotel  at  which  Mr.  Pat- 
terson was  staying  and  of  the  street  in  which  it  was 
situated  were  necessarily  written  so  as  to  be  read 
by  the  Saxon  postman  who  would  handle  the  letter. 
Eibhlin  understood  that  principle  must  now  and  then 
be  sacrificed  to  expediency  and  she  wanted  to  be 
sure  that  Mr.  Patterson  would  learn  of  the  uncondi- 
tional surrender  of  the  Government  in  the  face  of 
a  great  popular  movement. 

Mona  Conolly,  in  a  dressing-gown,  her  hair  hanging 
down  her  back  in  a  thick  plait,  slipped  quietly  into 
Eibhlin's  room.  She  had  gone  to  bed  soon  after  Peter 
Maillia  left  her;  but  failed  to  find  sleep.  At  twelve 
o'clock,  hopelessly  wide  awake,  she  became  restless. 
At  half-past  twelve  she  left  her  bedroom  to  look  for 
a  book.     The  light  in  Eibhlin's  room  attracted  her. 

**  Eibhlin,"  she  said.  ''I  have  been  thinking.  1 
have  been  thinking  about  Sunday,  and  what  we  are 
going  to  do  and  what  will  happen  afterwards." 

She  paused.  Her  eyes,  large  and  lustrous,  rested 
on  Eibhlin's  face  with  an  expression  of  grave  tender- 
ness. Eibhlin  thought  that  her  friend  looked  very 
beautiful,  very  regal  and  sublimely  calm.  Just  so 
no  doubt  antique  goddesses  and  the  finer  kind  of 
heroines  may  be  supposed  to  look  when  they  stand 
serene  above  the  turmoil  of  human  affairs. 

"  You  must  not  come  wnth  us  on  Sunday,"  said 
Mona,  "  or  take  any  part  in  what  we  do.  Our  action 
will  be  a  defiance,  a  rebellion.  They  will  be  angry 
and  revengeful  afterwards.  It  would  be  easy  to  make 
you  suffer.     It  will  not  matter  what  they  do  to  me, 


'52  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

and  for  others  it  will  not  matter  very  much,  though 
I  wish  that  I  could  go  alone  and  make  this  great  de- 
fiance by  myself  so  that  no  one  else  should  suffer.  But 
you,  Eibhlin,  you  must  not  come.  They  will  strike 
at  you  first,  because  it  would  be  easiest  to  strike  you. 
That  is  England's  way,  to  strike  the  weak." 

Eibhlin  laughed  joyfully. 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  said.  "  They  will  not  strike  at  me 
or  any  one.  Oh,  Mona,  we  have  won  our  victory. 
They  are  afraid  of  us." 

She  took  the  envelope  she  had  addressed  to  Mr. 
Patterson  from  her  pocket.  With  a  gesture  of  triumph 
she  unfolded  and  shook  out  her  copy  of  Sir  Ulick's 
report. 

"  Read  that,"  she  said.  "  Oh,  you  need  not  read 
the  whole  of  it.  The  last  page  will  be  enough.  They 
daren't  touch  us,  daren't  even  try  to  stop  us." 

Mona  read  her  father's  dispatch  slowly.  Her  face 
flushed.  When  she  reached  the  sentence  about  boys 
and  girls — particularly  girls — wanting  a  little  excite- 
ment, she  crushed  the  paper  fiercely  and  flung  it  from 
her. 

"It  is  infamous,"  she  said,  "abominable." 

Eibhlin  stared  at  her  in  blank  amazement. 

"  Is  it  possible,"  said  Mona,  "  that  you  don't  under- 
stand?   This  is  an  intolerable  insult." 

Mona  certainly  understood  her  own  father  better 
tha^  Eibhlin  did,  though  Eibhlin  had  typed  many 
thousand  letters  for  him.  She  probably  knew  more 
than  Eibhlin  did  about  the  temper  of  the  governing 
classes. 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  53 

"Don't  you  see,"  she  said,  "that  this  is 
cynical  contempt?  It  is  treating  us  as  if  we  are 
babies,  as  if  it  didn't  matter  what  we  did  or  said. 
Oh,  I  could  have  forgiven  him  anything  but 
this." 

She  would,  in  fact,  have  felt  quite  friendly  towards 
her  father  if  he  had  advised  the  picketting  of  the 
squares  of  Dublin  with  English  soldiers,  if  he  had 
suggested  the  posting  of  machine  guns  at  important 
points  along  the  route  of  the  procession,  if  he  had 
asked  for  cavalry  to  trot  and  clatter  through  the 
streets.  She  would  have  welcomed — she  certainly  con- 
templated— a  battle,  in  which  the  half-trained  levies 
of  England  would  go  down  before  the  disciplined 
valour  of  the  Irish  volunteers.  But  this!  "Boys 
and  girls — particularly  the  girls — want  a  day  out  and 
a  little  excitement." 

It  is  Ireland's  misfortune  that  her  governing  men 
are  sane,  so  hopelessly  sane  that  the  madness  of  their 
own  children — a  madness  half  divine  in  its  contempt 
for  the  brutalities  of  common  sense — is  entirely  be- 
yond their  comprehension. 

"  It  is  an  insult  and  an  outrage,"  said  Mona.  "  It 
is  an  insult  to  Ireland,  to  me,  to  all  of  us.  We  won't 
bear  it.    We  shall  force  them  to  act." 

There  was  a  sharp  tap  at  the  window.  Mona 
stopped  speaking  abruptly.  The  two  girls  looked  at 
each  other. 

"  The  rain,"  said  Mona. 

The  tap  was  repeated.  It  was  unmistakably  a  tap. 
It  demanded  attention. 


54  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

"  It's  not  the  rain,"  Eibhlin  whispered.  "  It's  some- 
body knocking." 

She  clutched  Mona's  arm.  Both  girls  stared  at  the 
window.  A  man's  face  was  pressed  against  the  glass. 
A  man's  knuckles  tapped  again. 

To  defy  a  government  as  mighty  as  that  of  the 
British  empire,  to  rise  in  rebellion,  to  dare  prison,  to 
accept  infamy,  which  is  of  course  in  reality  glory,  all 
this  requires  courage.  Mona  had  that  courage.  To 
see  the  face  of  a  strange  man  pressed  against  the 
window  pane  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  in  very 
bad  weather,  to  hear  his  fingers  tapping  and  tapping 
again;  to  be  clad  at  the  moment  in  a  dressing-gown 
and  bedroom  slippers — this  situation  calls  for  another 
kind  of  courage.  Mona  grew  pale.  Eibhlin's  dutch 
on  her  friend's  arm  tightened. 


CHAPTER  V 

IT  was  Eibhlin  who  spoke  first. 
"  Can  it  be  the  police?"  she  said,—  "  detectives?  " 
It  pleased  both  girls  to  regard  themselves  as 
dangerous  revolutionaries  whose  movements  are  con- 
stantly watched  by  the  authorities.  The  thought  that 
the  police  might  be  spying  on  them  restored  Mona's 
self-possession  at  once. 

''  We  must  see  who  it  is,"  she  said. 

She  crossed  the  room  with  a  firm  step  and  a  look 
of  determination  in  her  face.  She  opened  the  bottom 
of  the  window  a  little,  about  half  an  inch.  The  man 
outside  stooped  and  spoke  through  the  opening. 

''Let  me  in,"  he  said.  '' I'm  half  star\-ed.  Tm 
cold.    I'm  wet  through.    Let  me  in." 

He  spoke  in  a  querulous  whine.  The  last  part  of 
his  statement  was  plainly  true.  The  rain  was  running 
down  his  face.  Mona  could  see  that  his  coat  was 
saturated.  It  seemed  very  likely  that  he  was  cold. 
From  what  she  saw  of  his  face  she  was  prepared  to 
believe  that  he  might  be  half  starved.  She  raised 
the  sash  of  the  window  cautiously  another  half  inch. 

"WTio  are  you?  "  she  said. 

Instead  of  answering  the  man  grabbed  the  bottom 
of  the  window  and  pushed  it  still  further  up.  Then 
he  thrust  his  head  and  shoulders  through  the  opening 

S5 


56  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

and  crawled  into  the  room.  He  arrived,  of  course, 
on  his  hands  and  knees,  looking  very  ridiculous  as 
he  dragged  his  muddy  legs  and  feet  after  him.  But 
neither  of  the  girls  laughed.  They  were  still  a  little 
frightened.  The  man  rose  to  his  feet  and  stood 
dripping  and  blinking  at  the  light. 

**  I'm  sure  I  shall  be  ill  after  this,"  he  said.  "  I 
shall  catch  something,  pneumonia  very  likely." 

He  spoke  as  if  the  two  girls  were  directly  respon- 
sible for  his  condition,  as  if  they  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  themselves. 

"  I'm  not  accustomed  to  exposure,'*  he  said.  "  I 
wasn't  brought  up  to  it.     I've  always  lived  a  different 

kind  of  life.     And  now Oh,  damn  the  war,  and 

damn  the  Government,  and  damn  everything." 

He  was  not  an  attractive  figure  as  he  stood  there 
in  soaked  clothes  with  a  limp  collar  and  a  face  streaked 
with  dirt.  Yet  dry,  properly  clothed  and  in  a  good 
temper  he  would  have  been  well-looking.  He  was  a 
young  man,  well  formed  and  nearly  six  foot  high. 
His  face,  in  spite  of  its  querulous  expression,  showed 
signs  of  intelligence. 

"  Tell  us  who  you  are,"  said  Mona,  "  and  what 
you  want.    We'll  help  you  if  we  can." 

The  miserable  plight  of  the  man  moved  both  girls 
to  pity  him  in  spite  of  his  cringing  and  whimpering. 
Perhaps  the  fact  that  he  had  a  good  figure  and  an 
intelligent  face  helped  them  to  feel  friendly  towards 
him. 

"  Which  of  you  is  Miss  Murphy?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  am,"  said  Eibhlin. 


it 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  57 

I've  searched  for  you  all  evening,"  he  said.  "  I've 
been  to  every  kind  of  place,  up  and  down  streets, 
along  all  the  roads  there  are  round  this  infernal  city. 
Well,  I've  found  you  at  last.  Patterson  told 
me  to  find  you  and  that  you'd  help  me.  Here's 
his  letter." 

He  fumbled  in  one  another  of  his  pockets,  seeking 
after  the  letter. 

**  Who  are  you?  "  said  Eibhlin. 

*'  What  does  it  matter  who  I  am,"  he  said.  "  I  can't 
remember  wdiat  Patterson  said  I  was  to  call  myself. 
I'm  too  wet  and  cold  to  remember  anything.  Here's 
his  letter." 

He  produced  the  letter  at  last.  Eibhlin  took  it  and 
opened  it  cautiously.  The  paper  was  so  wet  that 
rough  handling  would  have  made  illegible  pulp  of  it. 
She  spread  it  on  the  table  for  greater  security,  and 
read  it  through. 

"  His  name  is  Bettany,"  she  said,  "  at  least  that's 
what  Alfred  Patterson  says  he's  to  be  called." 

She  looked  up  at  Mona. 

"  Alfred  has  sent  him  to  us,"  she  said,  "  so  of 
course  we  must  help  him." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mona. 

Eibhlin  re-read  her  letter. 

"  Alfred  is  in  London,"  she  said.  "  He  writes  from 
London.  It  was  in  London  that  he  found  Mr.  Bet- 
tany." 

"  I  wish  you'd  give  me  something  to  eat,"  said 
Bettany,  "  and  dry  clothes." 

He  whimpered  in  a  feeble  way.    He  had  spoken  the 


58  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

truth  when  he  said  that  he  was  not  used  to  hardship 
and  exposure. 

"  Come  with  me,"  said  Mona. 

She  led  him  into  the  dining-room.  The  fire  was 
still  smouldering.  Eibhlin  blew  it  into  a  blaze  and 
piled  on  more  coal.  Mona  fetched  food,  the  remains 
of  the  supper  she  had  shared  with  Peter  Maillia,  and 
whisky  from  her  father's  study.  She  remembered 
that  Tom  Bryan  had  left  clothes  in  the  room  he  oc- 
cupied three  years  before,  when  he  first  got  his  com- 
mission. She  ran  upstairs  and  brought  down  a  suit. 
She  brought  garments  of  her  father's  and  a  pair  of 
boots. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  "  eat  and  drink.  Get  warm  and 
dry.  Afterwards  we  can  talk  of  what  you  must 
do." 

She  beckoned  to  Eibhlin,  who  was  cutting  beef 
rapidly.     They  left  the  room  together. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Mona,  "  who  is  he?  " 

"  He  has  escaped  from  England,"  said  Eibhlin. 
"  They  tried  to  force  him  to  be  a  soldier.  They 
wanted  to  make  him  fight  for  England.  He  would 
have  been  arrested;  but  Alfred  Patterson  found  him, 
or  he  went  to  Alfred  for  help,  or  they  were  together. 
I  don't  know  how  it  happened;  but  Alfred  sent  him 
over  here  for  safety  and  told  him  to  come  to  me." 

"  I'm  glad  he  found  you  here,"  said  Mona.  "  Now 
I  shall  be  able  to  help  too." 

Neither  of  the  girls  had  any  real  sympathy  with 
pacifist  ideas.  No  Irish  Nationalist  has.  Ireland's 
heroes  are  all  fighting  men,  and  Ireland  was  probably 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  59 

at  that  moment  as  intensely  militarist  in  spirit  as  any 
country  in  Europe.  Her  young  men  were  every- 
where drilling,  were  clamouring  for  guns  and  other 
weapons,  were  singing  battle  songs  with  intense 
fervour,  were  cheering  orators  who  talked  about  win- 
ning liberty  with  ten  foot  pikes.  In  no  country  in 
the  world  were  the  principles  of  Tolstoi  less  appreci- 
ated than  in  Ireland. 

If  logic  and  reason  counted  for  anything  in  human 
affairs,  Mr.  Bettany  could  have  looked  for  little  sym- 
pathy in  Ireland.  But,  very  fortunately,  few  people 
are  reasonable;  and  in  every  Irish  heart — perhaps  in 
every  heart — there  is  some  sympathy  for  a  man  who, 
having  broken  a  law,  finds  the  police  at  his  heels. 
Mona  and  Eibhlin  had  often  urged  young  men  to 
become  soldiers  of  the  Irish  Republic,  setting  forth 
in  flaming  words  the  glory  of  fighting  for  their  na- 
tive land;  but  they  were  conscious  of  no  inconsistency 
in  succouring  an  Englishman  who  saw  no  glory  in 
fighting  for  England.  Perhaps  there  was  no  real 
inconsistency.  Ireland's  Volunteers  and  England's 
pacifists  were  united  in  one  important  matter.  They 
were  both  defying  the  law. 

"  He  must  stay  here  to-night,"  said  Mona.  "  He 
can  sleep  in  my  sitting-room  on  the  sofa.  In  the 
morning  we  will  let  him  out  very  early,  before  the 
servants  get  up." 

They  found  Bettany  half  an  hour  later  dressed 
in  Tom  Bryan's  clothes,  which  fitted  him  very  well. 
He  had  eaten,  ravenously,  it  seemed,  for  the  beef 
■was  almost  finished.    He  had  also  drunk.    The  decan- 


6o  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

ter  and  the  siphon  were  both  empty.  He  had  ceased 
to  shiver  and  was  no  longer  inclined  to  whimper. 
His  manner — Sir  Ulick's  whisky  came  from  a  supply 
bought  before  the  war — had  developed.  He  was  self- 
confident  and  jaunty. 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  he  said,  *'  to 
both  you  ladies."  He  bowed,  first  to  Mona,  then  to 
Eibhlin  as  he  spoke.  *'  I  really  was  very  hungry  and 
horribly  cold.  I  crossed  from  Holyhead  to-day.  It 
was  abominably  rough  and  the  boat  was  very  late.  I 
did  not  get  to  Dublin  till  nearly  seven  o'clock.  I  had 
your  address,  Miss  Murphy,  but  thought  it  wiser  not 
to  go  to  look  for  you  at  once.  There  is  always  a 
risk.    You  know  my  position,  don't  you?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mona.    "  Alfred  Patterson  told  us." 
"  Well,  then  you  understand.     There  are  so  many 
police  spies  about  and  military  agents  of  one  sort  and 
another.     I  had  to  be  careful,  very  careful.     They 
would  be  particularly  pleased  to  catch  me,  of  course." 
He  laid  a  slight  emphasis  on  the  word  "  me." 
Mona  and  Eibhlen  were  duly  impressed.     Bettany 
was  evidently  no  ordinary  fugitive,  whose  escape  might 
pass  unnoticed.    He  was  some  one  who  mattered. 

"  The  worst  of  it  was,"  said  Bettany,  "  that  I  had 
no  money,  not  a  penny.  I  had  to  start  from  London 
at  a  moment's  notice.  Our  friend  Patterson  is  not  a 
capitalist.  We  had  only  just  enough  money  between 
us  to  pay  for  my  ticket.  It  was  rather  a  bad  moment, 
Miss  Murphy,  when  I  found  you  wxre  not  at  home. 
It  took  me  a  long  time  to  make  my  way  here.  I 
walked  miles,  and  lost  my  way  several  times.     Of 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  6i 

course  I  could  have  taken  a  cab  if  I  had  had  a  few 
shillings;  but  I  hadn't." 

He  seemed  inclined  to  dwell  with  some  emphasis 
on  his  want  of  money. 

"  I  can  give  you  a  few  pounds,"  said  Mona. 

"Lend,"  said  Bettany — 'Mend,  of  course.  I  shall 
pay  you  back  soon,  almost  at  once.  I  shall  begin  to 
earn  direcdy  I  settle  down.  There'll  be  no  diffi- 
culty whatever  about  that." 

He  spoke  with  airy  assurance.  Mona  led  the  way 
to  her  sitting-room.  She  opened  a  bureau  which  stood 
in  a  corner  near  the  window.  Bettany,  his  eyes  fol- 
lowing her  movements,  continued  to  talk. 

"  I  have  my  pen,"  he  said,  "  and  I  can  write.  For 
writing  like  mine — I  don't  want  to  seem  boastful,  but 
I  can't  help  knowing  that  for  writing  like  mine  there 
is  always  a  market." 

Mona,  her  hand  on  a  half-opened  drawer,  turned 
to  him  with  interest. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  "  are  you  an  author?  " 

She  was  still  young  and  even  her  association  with 
the  "intellectuals"  of  Dublin  had  not  robbed  her  of 
the  feeling  that  literature  is  a  divine  mystery  and  that 
authors  are  priests  of  the  inner  shrine. 

"  A  poet?  "  she  asked. 

It  was  a  natural  question.  In  Ireland  all  our  au- 
thors are  poets  though  they  sometimes  waste  leisure 
hours  in  writing  prose. 

Mr.  Bettany  was  not  a  poet.  He  could  indeed 
scarcely  be  called  an  author  with  strict  propriety.  He 
was  a  journalist. 


62  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

"  Ifs  very  hard  on  me."  He  became  suddenly 
querulous  again.  '*I  had  m.ade  a  name  for  myself. 
I  was  just  beginning  to  do  well,  when  this  infernal 
conscription  came.  Now  I  shall  have  to  start  fresh. 
I  can't  write  under  my  own  name  any  more.  You 
know,  of  course,  that  Bettany  is  only  a  pseudonym. 

My  real  name " 

"  Don't  tell  us/*  said  Mona.  "  It  is  better,  safer, 
that  we  should  not  know." 

"  You  are  right,  dear  lady,"  said  Mr.  Bettany.  "  It 
is  better,  safer  for  you  not  to  know  what  my 
name  is." 

Neither  Mona  nor  Eibhlin  would  have  recognized  his 
name  if  they  had  heard  it.  It  was  known  to  the  edi- 
tors of  two  or  three  minor  periodicals  in  London.  It 
was  not  yet  blown  upon  by  the  breath  of  wide  publicity. 
In  a  sense  quite  other  than  that  in  his  mind  it  was  bet- 
ter that  his  real  name  should  not  be  mentioned.  As 
Bettany — the  pseudonymous  victim  of  a  persecution — 
he  was  surrounded  by  mystery.  He  might  be  some  one 
very  great.  He  might  be  Arnold  Bennett  or  H.  G. 
Wells.  For  all  the  two  girls  were  likely  to  know  he 
might  be  Bernard  Shaw  himself. 

"  If  you  will  lend  me  a  few  pounds,"  he  said,  "and 
a  waterproof  coat  and  an  umbrella — I  should  like  an 
umbrella  if  possible — I'll  go  away  at  once.  I  can 
easily  find  some  hotel  to  take  me  in.  I  can't  stay  here. 
It  might  be  awkward  for  you." 

"  Will  ten  pounds  be  enough?  "  asked  Mona.  "  I'm 
afraid  that's  all  I  have  in  the  house." 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you  very  much,"  said  Bettany. 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  63 

He  took  the  notes  which  Mona  offered  him  and 
stuffed  them  into  the  pocket  of  Tom  Bryan's 
trousers. 

''  It  is  nothing"  said  Mona,  "  nothing  at  all.  I 
am  glad  to  do  what  I  can  for  a  brave  man  who  has 


dared " 

She  hesitated.  It  was  not  quite  clear  to  her  at  the 
moment  what  Mr.  Bettany  had  dared.  It  was  Eibh- 
lin  who  finished  the  sentence.  She  was  troubled  with 
no  uncertainty. 

"  Who  has  dared  to  refuse  to  fight  for  England/' 
she  said. 

Bettany  looked  from  one  girl  to  the  other,  a  little 
puzzled.  He  was  fully  aware,  of  course,  that  he  was 
a  brave  man,  possessed  of  that  highest  form  of  cour- 
age which  is  called  moral ;  but  bravery  and  daring  were 
not  the  most  striking  points  about  his  flight  from  Lon- 
don. Nor  did  he  quite  understand  Eibhlin's  emphatic 
way  of  saying  that  he  had  refused  to  fight  for  Eng- 
land. He  did  not  want  to  fight  at  all.  He  was  quite 
clear  about  that.  But  if  he  were,  by  threats  or  torture, 
compelled  to  take  a  rifle  in  his  hand  he  would  just  as 
soon  have  used  it  for  England  as  for  any  other  coun- 
try. On  the  whole,  though  cosmopolitan  in  sympathy, 
he  preferred  England  to  Germany.  He  thought  it  well 
to  explain  himself. 

"  Believing  as  I  do,'*  he  said,  "  in  the  teaching  of 
Tolstoi  and  " — he  recollected  suddenly  that  Ireland  is 
a  remarkably  religious  country — "  and  in  the  Sermon 
on  the  Mount,  which  is  essentially  Tolstoyan,  it  is  im- 
possible for  me  to  fight.    I  have  been  a  member  of  the 


64  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

Brotherhood  of  the  Higher  Charity  for  years,  long  be- 
fore the  war.  I  cannot  now  be  false  to  my  convic- 
tions, cannot  outrage  my  conscience.  But  my  attitude 
is  incomprehensible  to  military  minds.     Fortunately  I 

knew  Patterson,  appealed  to  him  and  now But 

I  must  not  keep  you  here  talking  all  night.  If  you 
will  really  lend  me  a  waterproof  coat  and  an  um- 
brella  '^ 

It  was  half-past  two  when  Bettany,  wrapped  in  a 
coat  belonging  to  Sir  Ulick,  and  carrying  an  excellent 
umbrella,  slipped  quietly  out  of  the  house.  The  rain 
had  ceased.  The  moon,  nearly  at  the  full,  found  clear 
spaces  for  shining  among  the  clouds  which  still  drifted 
across  the  sky.  The  walk  back  to  Dublin  was  not 
unpleasant. 

Mona  and  Eibhlin  sat  together  long  after  Bettany 
left  them.     They  talked  of  Ireland.     Their  vision  of 
the  dear  land  expanded  gloriously.    She  was  no  longer 
a  country  oppressed,  helpless,  poor.    She  stood  a  shin- 
ing figure,  a  protectress  of  all  lovers  of  liberty,  of  all 
sad  souls  everywhere  in  the  world.     To  Ireland  they 
came  with  their  splendid  ideals,  driven  forth  by  tyrants, 
pursued  by  ravening  hounds.     On  the  broad  tender 
bosom  of  Ireland  they  found  security  and  peace.    No 
agent  of  tyranny  dared  pursue  them  across  Ireland's 
girdling  sea.    On  Ireland's  shores  stood  Ireland's  sons, 
the  children  of  a  fighting  race,  the  knights  of  liberty, 
unconquered  and  unconquerable. 

"  The  volunteers,"  said  Eibhlin  ecstatically. 
The  vision  unfolded  itself.     Before  the  stern  faces 
of  the  sons  of  the   Fianna  tyrants   quailed.    With 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  65 

gnashings  of  their  teeth  and  bitter  cursings  they  turned 
back  from  the  inviolate  shores.  Whoever  set  foot  on 
Ireland's  soil  stood  free,  guarded  by  the  serried  shields 
and  naked  swords  of  men  who  never  broke  faith  with 
a  suppliant  or  drew  back  from  the  defence  of  the  weak. 
Far  back,  among  the  glens  and  lakes  and  broad  pas- 
tures of  the  dear  land,  the  tyrant-ridden,  frightened 
strangers  could  lie  secure,  in  peace  at  last,  while  the 
Shan  van  Vocht  crooned  quiet  cradle  songs,  while 
around  them,  across  the  mountain  slopes,  unheard,  un- 
seen, save  by  those  with  fairy  ears  and  fairy  eyes, 
swept  the  trampling  squadrons  of  the  Tuath  de  Da- 
naan  chivalry. 

The  girls  sat  together,  clasping  hands,  speaking  sel- 
dom, building  up  with  a  few  disjointed  words  the 
glorious  fabric  of  their  dreams. 

"Ah  God!"  said  JMona,  "to  live  for  such  a  land! 
To  die  for  it!" 

The  dawn  crept  faintly  luminous  through  the  w^in- 
dows  of  the  house.  Sir  Ulick,  asleep  in  his  curtained 
room,  felt  the  stirring  of  the  coming  day  and  turned 
uneasily.  For  a  moment  he  was  awake,  or  half  awake. 
He  smiled,  for  a  pleasant  thought  came  to  him.  The 
Sunday  demonstration  would  be  a  flat  affair,  very  flat, 
if  the  Government  refused  to  take  any  notice  of  it. 
It  would  be  like  a  punctured  tyre.  Smiling,  he  turned 
in  bed  and  slept  again. 

Bettany  roused  the  night  porter  of  an  hotel,  and 
found,  to  his  delight,  that  it  was  possible  for  him  to 
have  a  Turkish  bath.  He  stretched  his  naked  limbs  on 
a  couch  and  drowsed  pleasantly  in  the  hot  air.    A  man 


66  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

with  ten  pounds  in  his  pocket  can  afford  these  little 
luxuries. 

Tom  Bryan  slept  fitfully  on  a  narrow  hospital  bed. 
He  was  awakened  now  and  then  by  the  moaning  of  the 
patient  next  to  him,  a  boy  wounded  in  the  stomach, 
who  kept  a  smiling  face  all  day,  whose  pain  found 
voice  only  while  he  slept. 


CHAPTER  VI 

KILMAINHAM  Murder  Sunday  "—the  staidest 
Dublin  papers  adopted  the  name  in  the  end — 
passed  off  in  a  manner  satisfactory  to  almost 
every  one  concerned. 

The  organizers  of  the  demonstration  were  gratified. 
The  law  was  broken  defiantly  all  the  afternoon.  Com- 
pany after  company  of  volunteers,  wearing  uniforms 
and  carrying  weapons  supposed  to  be  lethal,  marched 
and  countermarched  through  the  streets.  The  men 
moved  to  the  right  and  left  in  fours,  were  drawn  up 
in  long  lines  under  the  orders  of  shouting  officers, 
saluted  flags  and  behaved  in  many  respects  like  real 
soldiers.  Authority  slumbered.  The  servants  of  the 
law  made  no  effort  to  avenge  its  outraged  majesty. 
Sedition  was  not  merely  talked,  it  was  shouted  from 
housetops.  Not  a  policeman  interfered.  Not  a  short- 
hand writer  took  a  note  of  what  was  said  for  the  use 
of  the  Government. 

Mona  Conolly,  though  she  suspected  that  her  father 
was  laughing  at  her,  was  pleased  with  the  boldness  of 
the  defiance.  The  Cailini,  several  hundred  strong, 
looked  exceedingly  picturesque  in  white  frocks  with 
green  sashes.  They  sang  the  Soldiers'  Song  as  they 
marched. 

The  members  of  the  Transport  Workers'  Union  and 
those  of  some  other  Labour  organizations  tramped  in 

67 


68  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

procession  through  several  streets.  They  were  not  only 
deeply  interested  in  the  formation  of  an  Irish  Republic, 
but  were  hopeful  that  a  rise  in  wages  might  somehow 
be  the  result  of  any  revolution.  Mr.  Alfred  Patterson, 
a  leader  whose  nationalism  was  curiously  mixed  up 
with  socialism  of  an  international  kind,  arrived  in 
Dublin  in  time  to  march  at  the  head  of  the  labour 
forces.  Ragged  boys  and  barefooted  girls,  sellers  of 
evening  papers  on  weekdays,  did  a  profitable  trade  in 
buttons,  scraps  of  ribbon  and  little  flags  suitable  for 
wear  on  the  lapels  of  coats. 

The  general  public,  the  peaceful  bourgeoisie  of 
Dublin,  went  to  church  as  usual  in  the  morning,  dined 
as  usual,  without  hurry  or  excitement,  at  half-past  one 
o'clock,  and  then  went  out  to  see  the  fun.  Respectable 
citizens  meeting  at  street  corners,  inquired  of  each 
other  when  the  arrests  might  be  expected  to  begin, 
asking  their  question  very  much  as  the  elderly  virgins 
in  Byron's  poem  asked  another  question  during  the 
sack  of  Ismail,  more  than  half  hoping  for  the  thing 
they  feared.  Not  a  single  arrest  was  made  or  even 
attempted.  The  soldiers  were  all  strictly  confined  to 
their  barracks.  The  police  spent  a  quiet  week-end 
visiting  their  friends  in  the  country.  To  the  general 
public  the  afternoon,  though  pleasantly  exciting,  was 
a  litde  disappointing.    It  lacked  the  thrill  of  a  riot. 

Mr.  Bettany,  his  way  made  easy  for  him  by  Mona 
Conolly  and  Alfred  Patterson,  saw  and  heard  all  that 
was  most  picturesque  and  interesting.  He  wrote  five 
different  accounts  of  the  proceedings  and  sold  them  all 
to  good  English  papers  which  paid  well  and  promptly. 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  69 

His  market  was  improved  for  him  by  the  action  of  the 
Press  Censor,  who  forbade  the  Irish  papers  to  print 
any  account  of  the  demonstration.  This  left  the  Eng- 
lish papers  dependent  on  occasional  correspondents  for 
their  reports,  very  much  to  the  advantage  of  Mr.  Bet- 
tany,  who  might  have  sold  eight  or  nine  accounts  of 
the  demonstration,  if  he  could  have  written  so  many. 

Sir  Ulick  Conolly  spent  the  afternoon  comfortably 
in  his  study  before  a  good  fire.  He  had  four  Sunday 
papers,  each  containing  an  article  on  the  proper  w^ay 
to  govern  Ireland.  He  read  them  all  without  either 
smiling  or  swearing.  At  four  o'clock  he  dropped  off 
to  sleep.  At  five  a  servant  brought  in  afternoon  tea 
and  Sir  Ulick  awoke.  He  stood  up,  stretched  himself, 
and  looked  out  of  the  window.  Rain,  heavy  rain,  was 
plainly  coming.  Sir  Ulick  reflected  that  Providence, 
the  natural  ally  of  wise  and  good  men,  was  on  his 
side.  Sunday  demonstrators  always  wear  their  best 
clothes  and  no  one  so  dressed  likes  rain.  Even  ora- 
tors whose  speeches  have  not  yet  been  delivered  will 
not  face  a  downpour.  Sir  Ulick  drank  two  cups  of 
tea  and  then  went  to  sleep  again.  Only  men  with  quiet 
consciences  can  go  to  sleep  immediately  after  drinking 
tea. 

He  slept  in  snatches,  smoking  cigarettes  between 
the  dozes,  until  after  seven  o'clock.  He  began  to 
think  drowsily  that  he  must  soon  dress  for  dinner. 

Mona  sat  down  to  dinner  with  her  father.  She 
had  discarded  the  white  frock  and  green  sash,  which 
were  rain-soaked  and  splashed  with  mud.  She  wore 
an  old  evening  dress,  dating  from  the  days  before  she 


70  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

adopted  Gaelic  costume.  The  primitive  Gaels  did  not, 
it  is  believed,  wear  special  clothes  in  the  evening,  and 
Mona  was  too  loyal  to  her  principles  to  depart  from 
precedent.  Besides,  she  very  seldom  spent  a  whole 
evening  at  home  since  she  became  absorbed  in  Irish 
movements,  and  therefore  had  little  need  of  new 
dinner  gowns.  Sir  Ulick  looked  kindly  at  the  frock 
she  wore.  It  was  faded  and  old-iashioned,  but  it 
seemed  to  him  that  Mona  looked  particularly  nice  in 
it.     Sir  Ulick  did  not  admire  Celtic  draperies. 

"  Tired  ?  "  he  said.  "  You  look  a  bit  fagged,  Mona. 
Better  have  a  glass  of  claret.  These  functions  take 
a  lot  out  of  one." 

He  spoke  very  much  as  he  might  have  spoken  if 
Mona  had  spent  her  afternoon  selling  flags  for  the 
Red  Cross  or  in  some  other  entirely  loyal  occu- 
pation. 

Mona  was  tired.  She  had  gone  straight  from  her 
march  through  the  streets  to  a  committee  meeting  of 
the  society  managed  by  Alfred  Patterson.  It  was 
the  first  meeting  of  this  highly  political  society  which 
she  had  ever  attended.  She  heard  there  that  the  Gov- 
ernment intended  to  impose  conscription  on  Ireland. 
Alfred  Patterson  had  ways  of  discovering  the  secrets 
of  ministers  in  England,  and  he  spoke  of  this  decision 
as  final.  The  news  excited  Mona  and  then  left  her  de- 
pressed. She  pulled  her  wine  glass  towards  her  by 
the  stem.     The  butler  filled  it  with  claret. 

"  You  ought  to  have  a  change  of  air,  you  know, 
Mona,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "  You've  been  grinding  away 
here  in  Dublin  for  six  months  and  haven't  had  a  holi- 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  71 

day.  What  would  you  think  of  Dunally  for  a  few 
weeks?  " 

Mona  was  overwrought.  The  day  had  taken  a  great 
deal  out  of  her.  She  was  conscious  of  her  father's 
kindly  intention.  She  was  tragically  conscious  that 
an  impassable  gulf  yawned  between  him  and  her. 

"  I  don't  think  I  should  care  for  Dunally,"  she  said. 
"The  plain  truth  is,  father,  I  couldn't  stand  it." 

"  The  hunting  has  begun,"  said  Sir  Ulick  cheerfully. 
"  Vm  sure  your  aunt  could  let  you  have  a  horse  of 
some  sort.  She  always  has  scores  of  horses  about  the 
place,  and  Tom  will  be  going  down  as  soon  as  he  gets 
out  of  hospital.    It  might  be  pleasant  enough." 

"  It  would  be  too  pleasant,"  said  Mona.  "  Don't 
you  understand,  father?    But,  of  course,  you  don't." 

She  was  wrong.  Sir  Ulick  did  understand.  His 
own  conscience  was  of  a  good,  quiet  kind  which  seldom 
interfered  with  his  pleasures;  but  he  knew  that  some 
people  feel  it  really  wTong  to  enjoy  themselves,  taking 
themselves  and  their  work  very  seriously  indeed.  He 
persisted  mildly,  trying  a  new  method  of  persuasion. 

"  It  would  be  dull,  you  know,"  he  said.  *'  Dun- 
ally  in  the  late  autumn!  Muddy  roads!  Long  eve- 
nings! Paraffin  lamps  in  big  rooms  and  candles  to 
go  to  bed  by!  And  knitting!  You'd  have  to  knit. 
Still  that  sort  of  thing  is  soothing.  Very  good  for 
the  nerves.  You'd  be  all  the  better  for  six  weeks 
of  it." 

But  Mona  was  not  to  be  persuaded.  Behind  her 
father's  kindliness  and  his  evident  anxiety  for  her  wel- 
fare lay  the  dreadful  sentence  in  his  report  to  the 


72  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

Chief   Secretary.     **  Boys  and  girls  out   for  a  little 
excitement."     She  could  not  forget  that. 

For  three  days  Sir  Ulick  had  a  quiet  and  easy  time 
in  his  office.  The  Irish  papers,  the  fear  of  the  Censor 
lying  heavy  on  them,  had  not  a  word  to  say  about 
the  demonstration  on  Sunday.  On  Thursday  they 
began  to  copy  paragraphs  from  the  English  papers, 
being  careful  to  cjuote  their  authority,  so  that  if  the 
Censor  wanted  to  attack  any  one  he  might  spend  his 
strength  of  The  Times  or  the  Daily  Mail.  Finding 
that  nothing  unpleasant  happened  the  Dublin  editors 
ventured  on  a  few  remarks  of  their  own.  On  Satur- 
day they  were  in  full  cry  and  absolutely  unanimous 
in  their  condemnation  of  the  Government.  Those 
who  went  in  for  being  loyal  said  that  the  Government 
had  disgraced  itself  and  shown  unpardonable  coward- 
ice in  shirking  its  plain  duty.  The  first  duty  of  a 
Government  is  to  maintain  law.  The  capital  of  Ire- 
land had  been  handed  over  for  a  whole  day  to  the 
forces  of  anarchy.  This  showed — the  reasoning  was 
unassailable — that  the  Government  could  not  govern. 
Other  newspapers,  of  a  different  political  temper, 
pointed  out  that  there  had  been  no  disorder  in  the 
streets,  not  a  broken  window,  not  a  blackened  eye, 
not  a  drunken  man.  This  showed — and  the  reasoning 
was  as  good  as  the  other — that  Ireland  freed  from 
Castle  Government,  from  the  brutalities  of  the  police 
and  the  licentiousness  of  English  soldiery,  could  gov- 
ern itself.  Certainly  no  one  else  could  govern  it,  least 
of  all  the  coterie  of  overpaid  officials  who  inhabited 
offices  in  the  Lower  Castle  Yard. 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  73 

Sir  Ulick,  condemned  on  all  sides,  smiled. 

The  Chief  Secretary  was  desperately  harried  in  the 
House  of  Commons  by  members  who  read  Mr.  Bet- 
tany's  articles.  He  had  no  very  clear  idea  of  what 
had  actually  happened  in  Dublin.  Questions  fell  on 
him  as  thickly  and  explosively  as  shells  on  a  front 
line  trench.  He  forwarded  them  all  to  Sir  Ulick  by 
post  on  sheets  of  foolscap,  or,  at  great  expense,  by 
telegraph. 

Sir  Ulick  was  in  no  way  disturbed.  He  had,  neatly 
arranged  in  a  japanned  tin  box,  answers  to  all  the 
questions  which  are  usually  asked  about  Irish  affairs. 
He  sent  Miss  Murphy  to  the  box  whenever  a  telegram 
arrived  or  a  letter  from  the  Chief  Secretary.  He 
could  rely  with  confidence  on  her  intelligence.  She 
never  fitted  a  question  with  an  unsuitable  answer. 
When  puzzled — which  she  very  seldom  was — she 
typed  out  a  copy  of  a  formula  kept  pasted  on  the 
inside  of  the  lid  of  the  japanned  tin  box.  "  It  is  not 
desirable,  in  the  public  interest,  that  an  answer  should 
be  given  to  this  question." 

At  the  end  of  a  week  of  this  work  Parliament 
turned  its  attention  to  English  Primary  Education, 
and  Sir  Ulick  felt  that  the  matter  was  finally  settled. 
Another  crisis  in  the  history  of  Ireland  had  safely 
passed.  He  gave  Miss  Murphy  a  very  large  box  of 
chocolates  and  two  pairs  of  gloves,  judging  from  the 
abruptness  of  her  manner  that  she  was  overworked. 
The  same  evening  he  brought  home,  as  a  present  for 
Mona,  two  hundred  very  expensive  Turkish  cigarettes 
of  a  kind  only  obtainable  at  his  club.     He  realized 


74  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

that  "  Kilmainham  Murder  Sunday,"  had  been  a  dis- 
appointment to  her.  She  had  been — not  snappy,  so 
stately  a  young  woman  does  not  snap — but  a  little 
cold  in  manner  ever  since  the  great  demonstration. 


CHAPTER  VII 

TOM  BRYAN,  leaning  heavily  on  his  sticks, 
limped  to  the  gloomy  gateway  which  leads 
into  the  courtyard  of  Dublin  Castle.  A  po- 
liceman on  duty  and  two  soldiers  saluted  him.  Tom 
asked  the  policeman  to  tell  him  the  way  to  Sir  Ulick 
Conolly's  office. 

He  limped  through  the  gateway  into  the  courtyard. 
In  front  of  him  was  the  Chapel  Royal,  a  distressing 
specimen  of  imitation  Tudor  architecture.  Along  two 
sides  of  the  square  stood  tall  houses  with  rows  of 
dirty  windows  and  doorways  which  needed  fresh  paint 
very  badly.  The  ornamental  side  of  the  Government 
of  Ireland  is  represented  by  a  Lord  Lieutenant  who 
keeps  up  a  kind  of  second-rate  splendour,  not  very  im- 
pressive. The  working  part  of  the  machine  scorns 
ostentation  and  is  content  to  sit  at  shabby  desks  in 
rooms,  which  would  be  the  better  of  cleaning  both 
inside  and  out. 

Tom  counted  the  doors,  beginning  at  the  corner 
of  the  square,  and  hobbled  up  to  the  one  which,  ac- 
cording to  the  policeman's  information,  led  to  his 
uncle's  office. 

A  man  in  Sir  Ulick's  position,  on  whose  shoulders 
rests  the  weight  of  the  kingdom's  affairs,  is  not  to  be 
seen  easily  by  chance  strangers.  Tom  found  himself 
held  up  by  a  clerk  in  an  outer  office,  who  declined 

75 


^e  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

even  to  take  a  message  to  Sir  Ulick  from  any  one 
who  coukl  not  prove,  by  documents,  that  he  had  a 
business  appointment. 

"  I  haven't  an  appointment,"  said  Tom,  *'  but  I 
have  business,  terrifically  important  business.  If  Sir 
Ulick  misses  the  chance  of  hearing  what  my  business 
is,  and  if  it  turns  out  afterwards,  as  it  will,  that  you 
turned  me  down,  there'll  be  some  language  used,  and 
you'll  find  yourself  on  the  mat." 

The  meaning  of  the  threat  was  dim  to  the  clerk: 
but  he  was  so  far  impressed  that  he  sent  for  Miss 
Murphy. 

Miss  Murphy,  like  all  good  Nationalists,  w^as  at 
that  time  much  excited  by  the  rumor  that  conscription 
w^as  about  to  be  imposed  on  Ireland.  An  officer  in 
uniform,  demanding  an  interview  with  Sir  Ulick,  made 
her  very  suspicious. 

''  My  business,"  said  Tom,  *'  is  strictly  confidential, 
can't  possibly  tell  you  what  it  is." 

Miss  Murphy  was  a  nice-looking  girl.  Tom,  as 
was  his  habit  with  nice-looking  girls,  smiled  engag- 
ingly. 

"  If  you  mention  to  Sir  Ulick  that  my  name  is 
Bryan,"  he  said,  "Captain  Bryan;  you  can  add  M.C. 
if  you  like.  You'll  find  he'll  see  me  at  once.  If  he 
shows  any  hesitation  just  say  that  I'm  Deputy  Assist- 
ant Controller-General  of  the  Irish  Military  Secret 
Service.  That'll  fetch  him  down  from  his  throne  in 
the  inside  of  half  a  minute." 

Eibhlin  believed  him.  Pier  deliberate  and  carefully 
cultivated  ignorance  of  military  affairs  led  her  to  re- 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  ^y 

gard  his  hospital  blue  brassard  as  a  badge  of  office, 
office  and  rank  in  the  military  secret  service.  She 
quivered  with  excitement  and  her  face  flushed.  She 
was  certain  that  a  crisis  in  the  affairs  of  Irish  Na- 
tionalism had  arrived.  The  flush  was  very  becoming 
to  her.  Tom  misinterpreted  it  and  winked  in  a 
friendly  way.  Eibhlin  undertook  to  lead  him  into  his 
uncle's  presence.  He  climbed  a  flight  of  grimy 
stairs  behind  her  and  admired  her  figure,  which  was 
good, 

Eibhlin  opened  the  door  of  Sir  Ulick's  room  and 
ushered  in  Tom  Bryan.  She  closed  the  door  again 
very  reluctandy,  and  went  to  the  office  in  which  she 
worked.  She  would  much  have  liked  to  hear  the  con- 
versation between  Sir  Ulick  and  the  Deputy  Assistant 
Controller-General  of  the  Irish  Military  Secret  Service. 
She  hoped  that  she  might  be  sent  for  to  make  short- 
hand notes  of  what  w^as  said.  She  would,  perhaps, 
have  been  disappointed  if  she  had  been. 

"  I  say,  Uncle  Ulick,"  said  Tom,  "  do  you  keep 
many  girls  like  that  about  the  premises?  Beastly  un- 
patriotic of  you.  You  ought  to  send  that  one  off  to 
be  a  V.A.D.  You'll  hardly  believe  it,  but  there  are 
only  three  V.A.D.s  in  our  hospital  who  any  fellow 
could  possibly  want  to  take  out  to  tea.  And  I  need 
scarcely  say  that  three  aren't  enough  to  go  round,  not 
nearly.  Now  that  girl  of  yours — w^hat  on  earth  do 
you  want  her  for.  Uncle  Ulick?  You  can't  take  her 
out  to  tea.'* 

"  Tom,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  "  you  don't  know  Miss  Mur- 
phy.    If  you  did — — " 


78  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

"  I'd  take  her  out  to  tea,"  said  Tom,  "  or  lunch. 
Yes,  lunch  and  a  matinee  afterwards." 

"  You  couldn't,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "  Her  principles 
wouldn't  allow  her  to  have  tea  or  lunch  or  anything 
else  with  a  man  wearing  the  uniform  of  the  Saxon 
oppressor." 

"  Good  Lord !  "  said  Tom.  "  You  don't  mean  to 
say Like  Mona,  I  suppose " 

"  Exactly,"  said  Sir  Ulick.     "  Lots  of  them  are." 

"  Still,"  said  Tom  hopefully,  "principles  or  no  prin- 
ciples, a  girl  is  a  girl  after  all.  Every  girl  must  be, 
more  or  less.  At  least  that's  my  experience  of  them, 
of  the  good-looking  ones  any  way." 

"Mona?"  said  Sir  Ulick  smiling. 

"  Oh  well,  not  Mona,"  said  Tom  reluctantly.  "  Do 
you  know.  Uncle  Ulick,  I  can't  make  head  or  tail  of 
Mona.  I  wanted  to  take  her  to  a  matinee  the  other 
day,  a  jolly  good  show  called  In  the  Trenches.  There's 
a  little  girl  in  it  got  up  as  a  Tommy  in  a  shrapnel 
helmet  who  sings  that  song  about  '  Skipping  up  the 
road  to  Wipers,  Dancing  through  the  streets  of  Pop.' 
You  know  it?  don't  you?  " 

"  No,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  "  but  I  must  go  and  hear  it. 
Anything  that  brings  the  realities  of  war  home  to  us 
civilians " 

"Oh  well,"  said  Tom,  "it's  not  exactly  real,  you 
know.  Nobody  I  ever  met  skipped  up  the  road  to 
Wipers.  Jolly  sight  more  likely  to  crawl.  But  I  was 
going  to  tell  you  about  Mona.  She  was  quite  polite 
about  it.  Much  too  polite,  in  fact,  but  she  said  she 
had  a  previous  engagement,  and  I  met  her  that  very 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  79 

afternoon  walking  with  a  slimy  looking  blighter  who 
was  wearing  a  suit  of  my  clothes,  at  least  I'd  almost 
swear  they  were  my  clothes.  Do  you  think  Mona 
could  have  given  a  suit  of  mine  to  a  fellow  like  that?  " 

"  I've  missed  a  pair  of  boots  lately  myself,"  said 
Sir  Ulick,  "  and  a  waterproof.  But  we  mustn't 
grumble,  Tom.    There's  a  war  on,  you  know." 

Tom  accepted  the  fact.  As  an  explanation  of  the 
loss  of  his  clothes  it  was,  perhaps,  insufficient,  but  it 
has  served  as  an  excuse  for  stranger  things  than  that. 

"  Perhaps  that  girl  of  yours — Miss  Murphy  you 
said — would  like  to  see  In  the  Trenches/'  he  went  on. 
'Tt's  still  on  at  the  Gaiety,  and  there's  a  matinee  on 
Saturday.  I  can't  go  to  anything  except  matinees  on 
account  of  the  beastly  rules  of  the  hospital.  That 
reminds  me  by  the  way  of  what  I  came  to  see  you 
about." 

"  I  thought  you  came  about  Miss  Murphy." 

"  No.  I  didn't.  I  never  saw  Miss  Murphy  in  my 
life  till  I  got  here  so  it  couldn't  have  been  about  her 
I  came.  Though,  of  course,  when  I  did  come  and 
saw  her  I  naturally  thought  that  a  girl  like  that 
oughtn't  to  be  shut  up  here  all  day.  It's  not  right, 
Uncle  Ulick,  especially  when  there's  a  war  on." 

Sir  Ulick  glanced  at  the  bundle  of  papers  on  his 
desk.  He  had  a  great  deal  to  do  and  time  was  slipping 
away. 

"  Tom,"  he  said,  "  suppose  you  dine  with  us  to- 
night? I'll  fetch  you  out  and  send  the  motor  back 
with  you.  We  could  talk  over  the  hospital  after  din- 
ner and  settle  whatever  you  wanted  to  see  me  about.'* 


8o  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

"Thanks  awfully,"  said  Tom.  "I  will,  of  course. 
But  I  can't  put  off  what  I  came  to  tell  you  till  then. 
It  would  be  too  late  if  I  did.  The  fact  is.  Uncle 
Ulick,  I've  had  a  wire  from  the  mater.  She's  coming 
up  to  Dublin  to-day.  She's  on  her  w^ay  now.  She's 
going  to  stay  with  you.  I  thought  I'd  better  tell  you 
in  case  you  don't  know." 

"  I  don't,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  "  or  didn't  till  you  told 
me.  But  your  mother  very  seldom  lets  me  know  when 
she's  coming  to  stay  with  me.  She  prefers  just  to  ar- 
rive. Do  you  happen  to  know  what  she's  coming  to 
Dublin  for?" 

"  All  she  said  in  her  wire,"  said  Tom,  "  was  *  to 
settle  things  definitely.'  " 

"  Ah,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  "  that  looks  like  trouble  for 
some  one.  Did  she  say  exactly  what  things  she  meant 
to  settle?" 

"  Not  in  the  wire,"  said  Tom,  "  but  I've  had  letters 
from  her,  of  course." 

"  I'd  be  very  grateful,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  "  for  any 
hint  you  can  give  me  about  what  her  business  is  likely 
to  be." 

"  Well,"  said  Tom,  "she  wants  to  get  me  home,  for 
one  thing.  She  says  it  would  be  much  better  for  me 
to  be  under  her  care  than  in  a  hospital.  That's  quite 
true,  of  course,  but — well,  you  know  what  military 
regulations  are,  and  what  doctors  are.  If  any  one 
could  bully  common  sense  into  the  hospital  authorities 

it  would  be  the  mater.    But  I  don't  know What 

do  you  think,  Uncle  Ulick?  " 

Sir  Ulick  sighed.     Mrs.  Bryan  had  a  faith  in  the 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  8i 

powers  which  her  brother  possessed  which  was  very 
flattering  but  also  very  embarrassing.  She  believed 
that  he  could  make  or  break  laws  to  suit  her  private 
convenience,  and  she  expected  him  to  do  so.  Her 
method  of  *'setding  things  definitely,"  a  favourite 
phrase  of  hers,  was  to  descend  suddenly  on  her  brother 
and  demand  that  he  should  get  what  she  wanted  done 
at  once.  He  foresaw  that  he  would  become  involved 
in  a  hopeless  and  irritating  wrangle  with  the  R.A.M.C. 
about  the  regulations  which  govern  hospitals. 

'*  Anything  else?  "  asked  Sir  Ulick. 

Mrs.  Bryan  hated  all  towns,  particularly  Dublin, 
and  generally  saved  up  her  grievances  until  she  had 
three  or  four  of  them  pressing  for  definite  settlement 
before  she  made  up  her  mind  to  leave  her  home  at 
Dunally  for  a  week. 

"  I  rather  fancy  there's  a  rag  on  about  petrol,"  said 
Tom. 

Sir  Ulick  had,  with  great  difficulty,  by  a  totally 
illegitimate  use  of  his  official  influence,  secured  from 
the  Petrol  Control  Committee  an  allowance  of  ten 
gallons  a  month  for  Mrs.  Bryan.  He  had  little  hope 
at  the  time  that  she  would  be  satisfied  with  that 
quantity. 

"  And  there's  something  about  a  tillage  order.  I 
don't  understand  it  myself;  but  the  mater  seems  to 
think  it's  a  gross  injustice.  H  it's  anything  like  the 
orders  we  get  sometimes — and  most  orders  are  more 
or  less  the  same — the  fellows  who  gave  it  ought  to 
be  strafed." 

"Very  likely,"    said   Sir   Ulick.     **  Still  the   war. 


82  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

Tom We  must   think  about   the  war.      What 

they'll  say  when  your  mother  tackles  them  about  the 
tillage  is  that  it  is  a  necessary  war  measure." 

"  The  mater  knows  about  the  war,  all  right,"  said 
Tom,  ''  in  fact  nobody's  keener  than  she  is  on  knock- 
ing out  the  Boche,  but  what  she  says  is — ^look  here, 
here's  her  last  letter." 

He  pulled  a  paper  from  the  breast  pocket  of  his 
tunic  and  read  aloud: 

"  The  war  is  no  earthly  excuse  for  collecting  all  the 
imbeciles  in  Ireland  into  an  office  and  turning  them  on 
to  teach  farmers  how  to  farm;  most  of  them  creatures 
who  wouldn't  know  a  hay-rake  from  a  swathe-turner." 

"  She  may  be  right,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "  The  fact 
is,  Tom,  your  mother  often  is  right,  from  a  common 
sense  point  of  view.  What  she  finds  it  so  difficult  to 
understand  is  that  you  can't  run  the  government  of  a 
country  in  the  simple  sort  of  way  she  manages  her 
own  affairs.  That's  what  I'm  always  trying  to  get 
her  to  see.    But  it's  not  much  use  trying." 

**  The  mater  is  no  fool,"  said  Tom,  "  and,  of  course, 
if  she  succeeds  in  getting  me  out  of  hospital " 

"  She  may,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "  It's  perfectly  aston- 
ishing the  things  she  does  succeed  in  doing." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  could  ride  yet,"  said  Tom. 
**  My  leg  is  pretty  stiff  still,  you  know.  But  even  if 
I  can't  ride — I  say,  I  should  like  a  day  on  the  bog 
after  snipe  if  there  happened  to  be  a  touch  of  frost. 
I  think  I  could  manage  that  all  right.  And  I  might 
ride.  I  wonder  how  it  would  do  to  try  side  saddle. 
If  I  got  my  game  leg  hooked  over  the  crutch  it  would 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  83 

be  all  right,  I  expect.  But,  of  course,  it's  no  use 
talking  about  that  till  we  see  what  sort  of  fight  the 
mater  puts  up  against  the  doctors." 

Eibhlin  waited,  note-book  in  hand,  for  a  summons 
to  Sir  Ulick's  office.  When  it  became  plain  to  her 
that  no  shorthand  notes  of  the  conversation  were  re- 
quired, she  went  to  the  telephone.  She  rang  up  the 
secondhand  bookshop  in  which  Mr.  Patterson  sat  wait- 
ing for  customers.  Making  sure  that  no  one  could 
possibly  hear  what  she  said  she  told  him  that  a  mili- 
tary officer — the  confidential  adviser  of  the  Com- 
mander of  the  Forces — was  at  that  moment  in  con- 
sultation with  Sir  Ulick  devising  measures  for  the 
immediate  enforcing  of  Conscription  in  Ireland.  Mr. 
Patterson  received  the  news  with  the  grave  calm  char- 
acteristic of  great  statesmen  at  moments  of  national 
peril. 


CHAPTER  Vin 

MRS.  BRYAN  sat  next  her  brother  and  opposite 
Mona,  leaving  the  foot  of  the  table  for  Tom. 
She  was  a  tall  woman,  with  a  lean  face, 
tanned  by  wind  and  sun,  heavily  wrinkled  round  the 
eyes.  Her  abundant  grey  hair  was  brushed  straight 
back  from  her  forehead  giving  her  face  a  masculine 
look.  Seen  by  the  light  of  the  candles  on  the  dinner 
table  it  might  have  been  the  face  of  a  sporting  lawyer. 
She  wore  a  black  evening  dress  which  left  bare  her 
thin  neck  and  muscular  arms.  Her  hands  were  long 
and  sinewy.  She  wore  four  handsome  diamond  rings 
on  her  fingers  and  a  large  signet  ring  on  one  of  her 
thumbs.  The  diamonds  glittered  when  she  held  her 
wineglass  up  to  the  light  of  a  candle, 

"  I  must  say  this  for  you,  Toodles,"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Bryan  was  the  only  person  in  the  world  who 
addressed  Sir  Ulick  as  Toodles.  Sisters  have  an  un- 
comfortable way  of  remembering  these  nursery  nick- 
names long  after  they  have  been  entirely  inappropri- 
ate. Mrs.  Bryan  would  not  have  admitted  the  inap- 
propriateness.  She  still  thought  of  her  brother  as  a 
small  boy,  several  years  her  junior,  whom  it  was  her 
duty  to  cuff  when  he  behaved  foolishly.  He  was  con- 
stantly behaving  foolishly,  and  Toodles  seemed  a  thor- 
oughly suitable  name  for  him  in  spite  of  his  official 
dignity. 

84 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  85 

**  I  must  say  this  for  you,  Toodles,"  she  said,  "  that 
you  do  know  good  port  from  bad." 

She  spoke  as  if  this  knowledge  of  port  were  the 
only,  or  almost  the  only,  useful  quality  which  Sir  Ulick 
possessed. 

'*  I'm  glad  you  like  it,  Caroline,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  "  I 
bought  it  at  the  Red  Cross  Sale  the  other  day.  Old 
Lord  Athowen  sent  it  in." 

"  I  suppose  you  didn't  buy  my  boule  cabinet,"  said 
Mrs.  Bryan.  "If  you  did  you'd  better  give  it  back 
to  me.  I  sent  them  that  boule  cabinet  which  stood 
in  the  little  drawing-room  at  Dunally,  and  I  don't 
mind  telling  you,  Toodles,  that  I'm  sorry  now.  If  I'd 
known  the  sort  of  way  they  were  going  to  behave 
about  Tom,  keeping  him  shut  up  here  in  a  hospital  in 
Dublin,  I'd  have  seen  them  in  Jericho  before  I  gave 
them  my  boule  cabinet.  Anything  more  disgrace- 
ful  " 

"  I  don't  think  you  can  hold  the  Red  Cross  people 
responsible  for  those  regulations,"  said  Sir  Ulick. 

"  Don't  talk  nonsense,  Toodles.  The  Red  Cross 
goes  in  for  succouring  the  wounded.  That's  what 
they  profess  to  do  anyhow,  and  that's  what  made  me 
give  them  the  cabinet  and  ^25  which  I  couldn't  afford. 
Now  what  I  say  is  that  they  ought  to  succour  Tom 
instead  of  incarcerating  him  in  a  vile,  insanitary  prison 
in  Dublin.  But,  of  course,  you'd  defend  their  action 
whatever  it  was.  All  you  official  people  stand  up  for 
each  other.     It's  part  of  the  game." 

Mona  rose  from  her  chair.  Her  draperies  settled 
themselves  in  long  lines  round  her.    She  looked  at  her 


86  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

aunt  and  her  face  wore  an  expression  of  calm  detach- 
ment. Her  mind  was  evidently  occupied  with  great 
matters.  The  merits  or  delinquencies  of  the  Red  Cross 
Society  could  scarcely  be  expected  to  interest  her. 

"  I  hope  you'll  excuse  me,  Aunt  Caroline,"  she  said. 
"  I'm  afraid  I  must  go  away.  I  have  a  meeting  to 
attend  in  Dublin." 

Mrs.  Bryan  set  down  her  glass  of  port  and  took  a 
long  look  at  her  niece. 

"  I'd  be  a  Sinn  Feiner  myself  to-morrow,"  she  said, 
"if  it  wasn't  for  the  clothes  they  make  you  wear.  I'm 
not  sure  that  I  won't,  clothes  or  no  clothes.  The  way 
this  country  is  governed  at  present  is  enough  to  make 
a  rebel  of  any  one.  All  the  same,  Mona,  I  cannot 
see  why  you  should  be  obliged  to  make  yourself  look 
like  a  cross  between  a  Florence  Court  Yew  in  a  church- 
yard and  a  flagstaff  on  a  wet  day  just  in  order  to  show 
that  you  hate  Englishmen.  I  hate  the  English  myself 
as  much  as  any  one  can,  but  I  prefer  to  dress  decently." 

Mona  knew  that  her  aunt  was,  in  politics,  a  reaction- 
ary Tory,  in  matters  intellectual  and  artistic  entirely 
unenlightened.  In  dealing  with  an  unfortunate  person 
of  that  kind  it  is  well  to  remain  calm,  benignant  and 
superior.  This  was  what  Mona  meant  to  do.  But 
no  girl  likes  to  hear  her  clothes  disparaged  or  to  be 
compared  to  a  dull  looking  tree  like  a  yew.  Mona 
suffered  temporary  loss  of  temper. 

"Don't  be  silly,  Aunt  Caroline,"  she  said.  "I'm 
not  obliged  to  dress  as  I  do.  My  clothes  are  my  own 
choice." 

"  Then  they're  an  extremely  bad  choice,"  said  Mrs. 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  87 

Bryan,  "  and  let  me  tell  you  this,  you'll  never  get  a 
man  to  marry  you  if  you  go  about  dressed  like  that, 
not  a  man  worth  catching  anyhow." 

Mona  drew  herself  up  stiffly,  now  seriously  annoyed. 
A  girl  educated  at  a  modern  school  and  decked  with  the 
culture  of  a  university  course  knows  that  a  woman 
has  more  important  things  to  do  in  the  world  than 
get  married. 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  mean  to  be  insulting,  Aunt 
Caroline,"  she  said,  '*  but  when  you  talk  in  that  way 
about  catching  men — as  if  a  girl — do  you  suppose? — 
do  you  really  suppose  that  I  want  to  catch  a  man  ?  " 

"  Of  course  you  do,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  You  may 
not  know  it  but  you  do.  Every  woman  does.  I  did 
myself  when  I  was  young.  I'm  not  at  all  sure  that 
I  don't  still.  I've  often  thought  I'd  get  on  better  if 
I  went  in  for  a  second  husband.  I'd  do  it  too  if  every 
man  worth  marrying  hadn't  gone  off  to  the  war." 

Mona  moved,  rather  abruptly,  towards  the  door. 
Tom  was  only  just  in  time  to  open  it  for  her.  She 
turned  on  him,  speaking  sharply. 

"  You'd  better  come  with  me,  Tom,"  she  said.  *'  I'll 
drop  you  at  the  hospital.  It's  not  much  too  early  for 
you  and  I  don't  want  to  send  the  motor  back  here. 
My  meeting  may  not  last  long  and  I  shall  want  the 
car  as  soon  as  it's  over.  You  can't  walk  back,  you 
know,  so  unless  you  come  now " 

Tom  looked  back  at  the  dinner  table.  He  would 
very  much  have  liked  a  second  glass  of  his  uncle's 
port  and  a  smoke  before  the  study  fire,  but  he  could 
not,  being  very  lame,  walk  back  to  the  hospital.     He 


88  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

said  good  night  to  his  mother  and  Sir  Ulick  reluc- 
tantly. Those  who  are  given  over  to  great  causes,  as 
Mona  was,  are  sometimes  inclined  to  sacrifice  others, 
as  well  as  themselves,  on  the  altars  of  their 
devotion. 

"  Give  my  love  to  all  the  Sinn  Feiners,  Mona,"  said 
Mrs.  Bryan,  "  and  tell  them  I'll  send  them  a  subscrip- 
tion towards  the  next  rebellion  they  get  up  just  to 
show  what  decent  people  think  about  the  way  this 
country  is  being  governed." 

"  Toodles,"  she  said,  when  Mona  and  Tom  had  left, 
"  what  that  girl  wants  is  a  husband  to  look  after  her, 
and  a  baby  of  her  own,  if  possible  twins,  and  it's 
your  business  to  see  that  she  gets  them." 

"  My  dear  Caroline!  " 

"  But  you  won't  do  your  duty  to  her  any  more  than 
you  will  to  the  country  you're  supposed  to  be  gov- 


erning." 


"  I've  often  told  you,  Caroline,"  said  Sir  Ulick, 
"  that  I  don't  govern  Ireland.  The  Chief  Secretary 
and  the  Lord  Lieutenant " 

"Toodles,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan  severely,  "don't  talk 
nonsense  to  me.  You  may  be  able  to  deceive  innocent 
people  by  saying  things  like  that;  but  I've  lived  too 
long  to  be  taken  in.  I  know,  just  as  well  as  you  know 
yourself,  that  those  sheep  who  bleat  about  in  Parlia- 
ment don't  govern  anything  and  aren't  expected  to. 
The  man  who  ought  to  be  doing  that  is  you,  and  you 
won't.  You're  too  lazy.  You  always  were  lazy  and 
you  are  still.  You'd  rather  let  everything  slide  away 
into  perdition  than  take  the  smallest  trouble  to  keep 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  89 

the  country  straight.  Take  the  question  of  petrol 
now." 

"  Do  you  mind  if  I  begin  to  smoke?  "  said  Sir  Ulick. 
"  I  think  I  could  give  my  mind  to  the  petrol  question 
better  if  I  had  a  cigarette.'* 

"If  there  was  any  real  shortage  of  petrol,"  said 
Mrs.  Bryan,  "  I  shouldn't  grumble  about  not  getting 
what  I  want.  Though  even  then  the  sensible  thing 
would  be  to  let  the  price  go  up  till  people  stopped 
buying  it.  But  as  a  matter  of  fact  the  country's  full 
of  petrol.  You  trip  over  tins  of  it  when  you  go  out 
at  night.    And  yet  you " 

"  The  Petrol  Control  Committee,  not  me,"  said  Sir 
Ulick.     "  I'm  not  even  a  member  of  it." 

"  You,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan  firmly.  "  You,  Toodles. 
You  cut  me  down  to  an  allowance  of  ten  gallons  a 
month.  I  needn't  say  I  can't  get  on  with  that  amount. 
I  have  the  whole  hunt  business  on  my  hands.  The 
Master's  in  France,  and  old  Lord  Athowen,  who's 
supposed  to  be  Deputy,  is  over  seventy.  A  sporting 
old  boy,  but  past  his  work.  I  have  to  look  after  things 
and  I  can't  do  it  on  ten  gallons.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
I  used  thirty  last  month." 

"My  dear  Caroline!  I'm  not  asking  where  you 
got  it;  but  if  you  did  get  thirty  gallons  last  month 
you've  nothing  to  complain  about." 

"Nothing  to  complain  about!  Well,  I'll  tell  you 
how  I  got  the  extra  petrol  and  then  you'll  see  whether 
I've  anything  to  complain  of.  I  sent  down  a  donkey 
cart,  after  dark — after  dark,  Toodles,  so  that  the  po- 
lice wouldn't  see  me — and  I  got  the  tins  out  of  that 


90  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

drunken  blackguard  Joe  Maillia's  cow  byre,  wrapped 
up  in  sacks  so  as  to  look  like  potatoes.  That's  what 
I  have  to  do  to  get  the  petrol  I  want,  instead  of  buy- 
ing it  decently  in  a  shop  in  broad  daylight,  and  all 
because  a  set  of  muddle-headed  officials — like  you, 
Toodles — youVe  one  of  the  worst  of  them — make  ab- 
solutely insane  regulations." 

"  I  wonder  where  Maillia  gets  the  stuff,"  said  Sir 
Ulick,  "  it  would  be  interesting  to  know  that." 

"  Steals  it,  of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  How 
else  could  he  get  it?  I  can  tell  you  it's  not  at  all 
pleasant  for  a  woman  like  me  who's  always  been  a 
loyalist  and  a  Unionist  and  a  sound  Protestant  to  have 
to  go  mixing  herself  up  with  Sinn  Feiners  and  the 
scum  of  the  country  in  order  to  get  what  I'm  perfectly 
ready  to  buy  honestly." 

Sir  Ulick  thought,  foolishly,  that  he  saw  a  way  of 
confounding  his  sister. 

"  A  few  minutes  ago,"  he  said,  "  you  told  Mona 
that  you  were  going  to  join  the  Sinn  Feiners  yourself 
and  you  promised  a  subscription  to  the  next  rebellion." 

He  wasted  a  good  argument.  Mrs.  Bryan  was  im- 
pervious to  the  prick  of  a  mere  tu  quoque.  She 
snorted. 

"  I  dare  say  you  approve  of  Sinn  Feiners.  The 
Government — that's  you,  Toodles — certainly  does  its 
best  to  back  them.  Last  spring  a  party  of  them  came 
to  me  and  said  they  wanted  my  big  paddock,  the  only 
place  I  have  for  brood  mares.  They  wanted  to  break 
it  up  into  potato  patches.  'Land  for  the  People '  or 
some  talk  like  that.     I  told  them  what  I  thought  of 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  91 

them  and  sent  them  away  with  hot  ears.  But  a  week 
afterwards  I  got  a  circular  from  the  Government  say- 
ing I  must  either  break  up  that  paddock  myself  or 
give  it  to  some  one  who  would.  Now  if  you  didn't 
mean  to  support  Sinn  Feiners,  why  did  you  send  me 
that  circular?  " 

"  I  didn't  send  it,  Caroline.  Upon  my  honour  I 
didn't.    Must  have  been  the  Board  of  Agriculture." 

"  Same  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan,  "  and  I  hold  you 
responsible.  That  was  last  spring;  but  no  later  than 
yesterday  you  sent  me  another  circular " 

"Don't  you  think,"  said  Sir  UHck  gently,  "that 
we'd  better  stick  to  one  thing  at  a  time.  Don't  let's 
tackle  the  tillage  question  till  we've  settled  about  the 
petrol." 

"  What  I  put  to  you  is  this,  Toodles.  How  can  I 
till  without  manure?  and  where  am  I  going  to  get 
manure  if  you  insist  on  my  selling  the  last  beast  I 
have?" 

**  Caroline,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  "  if  you  mix  manure 
with  petrol  we'll  never  get  any  further.  I've  been 
trying  to  think  how  I  can  get  you  more  petrol  but  if 

you  confuse  me  with  agricultural  problems Look 

here,  have  you  anything  to  do  with  the  Red  Cross?  " 

"  Of  course  I  have.  Didn't  I  tell  you  that  I  sent 
them  a  boule  cabinet  and  £25  ?  But  they'll  never  get 
another  penny  out  of  me  after  the  way  they  are  treat- 
ing Tom.  You'll  have  to  take  up  Tom's  case,  Toodles, 
and  go  into  it  thoroughly.  Anything  more  maliciously 
idiotic  than  the  hospital  regulations " 

"  One  minute,  Caroline.     I'm  trying  to  get  at  the 


92  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

petrol.  Do  vor  do  anything  else  for  the  Red  Cross, 
any  sort  of  work?    Visiting  hospitals?" 

"  You  know  perfectly  well,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan,  "  that 
there  isn't  a  hospital  within  thirty  miles  of  Dunally, 
and   I   wouldn't   visit   one   if   there   was.      I   regard 

hospitals Look   at  Tom,   shut  up  in  a  stuffy 

prison  in  a  back  slum  in  Dublin  just  when  the  hunt- 
ing's beginning." 

"  Apart  from  hospitals,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  "do  you 
by  any  chance " 

"  I  knit  socks,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan,  "  and  I  dress  my- 
self up  twice  a  week  in  a  white  sheet  and  make  band- 
ages at  Lady  Burnett's.  I  don't  know  if  you  call  that 
doing  anything." 

"We  might  work  it  that  way,"  said  Sir  Ulick. 
"  We  might  put  it  that  the  petrol  is  required  in  order 
to  enable  you  to  attend  a  War  Work  Depot." 

"  But  it  isn't,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  It's  required  for 
looking  after  the  hounds  and  seeing  that  the  earths 
are  properly  stopped." 

"If  I  say  that,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  "your  application 
will  be  turned  down  straight  away.  The  clerk  who 
opened  the  envelope  wouldn't  even  bother  to  pass  on 
your  letter  to  the  committee.  Our  only  chance  is  to 
say  that  the  stuff's  wanted  for  some  work  in  connec- 
tion with  the  Red  Cross." 

"  But  that's  not  true." 

"  My  dear  Caroline,  in  these  matters  strict  truth- 
fulness is  scarcely  possible.  You  mustn't  be  too 
scrupulous." 

"  I'm  not  in  the  least  scrupulous,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan. 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  93 

"  Vm  just  as  ready  as  any  woman  in  Ireland  to  tell 
a  good  thumping  lie — in  the  proper  place  and  to  the 
proper  people — but  I'm  not  going  to  degrade  myself 
by  quibbling  to  a  twopenny-halfpenny  clerk  in  one  of 
our  Government  offices.  I'd  just  as  soon  play  nap 
with  a  kitchenmaid  and  cheat  the  girl." 

Sir  Ulick  suggested  a  move  into  the  study.  Mrs. 
Bryan,  who  combined  a  fondness  for  sweets  with  a 
taste  for  good  port,  took  a  dish  of  macaroons  with  her. 
She  placed  it  on  the  floor  beside  one  of  the  deepest  of 
Sir  Ulick's  chairs.  She  stretched  herself  in  the  chair 
and  crossed  her  legs.  If  Sir  Ulick  had  been  interested 
in  such  matters  he  might  have  observed  that  her  calves 
were  muscular  and  that  her  silk  stockings  were  heavy 
and  good.  She  kicked  off  both  her  shoes  in  the  course 
of  the  evening.  Sir  Ulick  could  not  help  noticing  that 
the  black  silk  stockings  had  white  toes. 

The  evening  passed  agreeably  for  him  and  no  doubt 
pleasantly  for  Mrs.  Bryan.  Her  mind  had  the  activity 
of  a  young  lamb  and  skipped  from  one  subject  to  an- 
other without  pausing  to  establish  any  connection  of 
thought.  But  she  never  allowed  herself  to  wander  far 
from  one  or  another  of  her  three  grievances.  Sir 
Ulick,  accustomed  to  the  tortuous  and  obscure  work- 
ings of  the  minds  of  politicians,  found  his  sister's  way 
of  taking  questions  and  surmounting  difficulties,  sin- 
gularly refreshing.    He  ventured  to  say  so. 

'*  My  dear  Toodles,"  she  replied,  "  I've  had  the 
sense  to  learn  one  thing  in  life.  If  there's  a  fence 
in  front  of  you  ride  at  it.  If  you  don't  get  over  you'll 
probably  get  through.     You'll  do  neither  if  you  sit  in 


94  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

front  of  it  trying  to  explain  to  it  that  it  oughtn't  to 
be  there." 

It  was  half  past  ten  when  the  macaroons  were  fin- 
ished. Mrs.  Bryan  yawned.  She  pulled  herself  out 
of  her  chair,  slipped  on  her  shoes  and  said  she  was 
going  to  bed. 

"  If  ever  women  are  allowed  into  Parliament/'  said 
Sir  Ulick,  "  and  I  suppose  they  soon  will  be,  you  ought 
to  go  there,  Caroline." 

"  I  should  rather  like  to,"  she  said.  "  I  should 
rather  like  going  over  there  for  a  week  or  two  if  I 
didn't  miss  any  hunting.  I'd  like  the  chance  of  tell- 
ing them  how  Ireland  ought  to  be  governed." 

"  You'd  convince  them  in  less  than  a  week,"  said 
Sir  Ulick,  "  that  Ireland  can't  be  governed  in  any 
way.  They  won't  believe  me  when  I  tell  them  that, 
but  with  you  before  their  eyes  as  an  illustra- 
tion  " 

"  Now  you're  beginning  to  maunder,  Toodles,"  she 
said.    "  And  I  can't  stand  maundering.    Good  night." 

Sir  Ulick  lit  a  fresh  cigarette  after  she  left  him.  He 
reflected  that  his  sister  was  a  very  interesting  and 
amusing  woman.  Later  on,  about  twelve  o'clock,  he 
recollected  with  much  less  satisfaction,  that  in  the 
course  of  the  evening  he  had  promised  to  defeat  the 
Army  Medical  authorities  on  the  battlefield  of  their 
own  regulations,  that  he  had  undertaken  to  secure  an 
unlimited  supply  of  petrol  for  his  sister,  and  to  ar- 
range that  her  land  should  escape  the  tillage  enforced 
on  the  rest  of  Ireland  in  the  national  interest. 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  MAN  unpractised  in  the  art  of  government 
might  have  been  gravely  embarrassed  by  prom- 
ises like  those  which  Sir  Ulick  made  to  his 
sister.  He  remained  almost  tranquil,  was  certainly  not 
seriously  perturbed.  The  matter  of  the  petrol  and  the 
question  of  the  tillage  order  scarcely  troubled  him  at 
all.  He  had  to  deal,  in  each  case,  with  an  experienced 
Government  Department.  It  was  like  driving  a  motor 
through  traffic  where  every  one  knows  the  rules  of  the 
road  and  can  be  counted  on  to  observe  them.  A  skil- 
ful driver,  in  a  good  car,  suffers  no  nervousness.  Sir 
Ulick  had  enjoyed  for  many  years  an  inside  view  of 
the  way  in  which  a  democratic  country  is  governed, 
and  thoroughly  understood  how  awkward  questions 
are  dodged  and  how  the  fulfilment  of  pledges,  like 
those  he  had  given,  is  postponed.  All  he  had  to  do  was 
to  start  a  correspondence  with  the  Petrol  Control  Com- 
mittee and  the  Department  of  Agriculture.  Notes, 
carefully  typed  by  Miss  Murphy  on  sheets  of  foolscap, 
would  be  dispatched  every  day.  They  would  be 
promptly  and  civilly  answered.  Two  files  of  docu- 
ments would  grow  fatter  and  fatter.  They  could  be 
shown  every  evening  to  Mrs.  Bryan.  The  end,  as 
Sir  Ulick  knew,  was  certain.  Sooner  or  later  his  sis- 
ter's patience  would  be  exhausted  and  she  would  give 
up  the  pursuit.    A  Government  Department,  in  games 

95 


96  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

of  this  sort,  always  holds  the  thirteenth  trump.  The 
most  persistent  members  of  the  public  must  give  in 
at  last.  A  Government  Department  has  inexhaustible 
patience,  because  it  commands  a  staff  of  clerks  whose 
sole  business  in  life  is  to  write  notes.  Even  if  they 
die,  there  are  always  others  ready  to  take  up  the  work. 

The  question  of  Tom  Bryan's  release  from  hospital 
was  different  and  caused  Sir  Ulick  some  uneasiness. 
Doctors  are,  by  the  necessity  of  their  profession,  auto- 
crats. So  are  soldiers.  A  doctor-soldier,  a  cross  be- 
tween two  autocrats,  is  not  likely  to  understand  the  art 
of  democratic  government.  Dealing  with  military 
medical  authorities  was  likely,  Sir  Ulick  feared,  to  be 
like  driving  in  traffic  where  nobody  knows  the  rules  of 
the  road  and  each  man  thinks  of  nothing  but  forcing 
a  passage  for  himself. 

Sir  Ulick's  first  note  about  his  nephew*s  release  was 
met  by  a  reference  to  a  regulation,  B  152  FK  3,  and  a 
statement,  appalling  in  its  bluntness,  that  no  excep- 
tion could  be  made  in  the  case  of  Captain  Bryan.  This 
was  just  what  Sir  Ulick  feared. 

He  showed  the  note  to  his  sister.  She  read  it  and 
snorted  with  indignation  and  delight.  In  her  joy  at 
the  prospect  of  a  straightforward  battle  on  a  simple 
issue  she  even  forgot  to  comment  on  the  replies  of  the 
Petrol  Committee  and  the  Department  of  Agriculture. 

"  Toodles,"  she  said,  "  you  must  see  that  man  to- 
morrow and  tell  him  that  this  kind  of  thing  simply 
won't  do.  Regulations  indeed,"  she  tapped  the  paper 
before  her  with  her  little  finger.  "  Cock  him  up  with 
his  regulations!    What  are  regulations  for,  I  shotdd 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  97 

like  to  know,  if  they're  not  for  the  benefit  of  the  pa- 
tients? You'd  think  to  read  that  note  that  poor  Tom 
exists  simply  to  give  their  regulations  a  chance  of 
working." 

Sir  Ulick,  though  a  philosophic,  broad-minded  and 
very  tolerant  man,  was  startled.  His  sister's  doctrine 
was  perilously  heretical,  li  it  ever  came  to  be  gener- 
ally thought  that  rules  and  laws  exist  for  the  benefit 
of  the  public  there  would  be  an  end  of  all  government. 
And  the  governing  classes,  our  bureaucrats,  would 
simply  disappear. 

"  H  you  don't  see  that  man  to-morrow,  Toodles," 
said  Mrs.  Bryan,  "  I'll  call  on  him  myself,  and  tell  him 
exactly  what  I  think  of  him." 

Sir  Ulick,  greatly  disliking  the  business,  called  at  the 
office  of  the  D.D.M.S.  in  Ireland.  He  was  received  by 
a  staff  officer,  a  youthful  major,  who  was  sympa- 
thetic but  evidently  very  tired. 

"Every  mother,"  he  said,  ''thinks  that  an  excep- 
tion ought  to  be  made  in  the  case  of  her  son;  and  the 
wives  are  just  the  same.  If  we  listened  to  one  we 
should  have  to  listen  to  them  all.  I'm  very  sorry  for 
them  of  course,  but  we  must  consider  our  regulations. 
We  can't  make  exceptions."  He  pulled  himself  to- 
gether, squared  his  shoulders  and  spoke  with  emphasis, 
"  can't  and  won't." 

"  I  understand  your  position,"  said  Sir  Ulick, 
"  quite  understand  it.  But  believe  me  no  good  ever 
comes  from  that  way  of  meeting  troublesome  people. 
I  quite  admit,"  he  smiled  confidentially,  "that  my 
sister  is  troublesome.     If  you  take  my  advice — and 


98  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

I've  been  dealing  with  troublesome  people  before  you 
were  born — you  won't  simply  say  no.  It's  far  better 
to  write  a  letter  which  leaves  the  matter  open,  and  then 
another  letter,  and  another  after  that.  You  have 
clerks,  I  suppose,  to  do  these  things.  Very  well.  Keep 
on  writing  letters.  In  the  end  the  matter  will  settle 
itself.  My  nephew  will  get  well  some  day  and  be  re- 
leased from  the  hospital  in  the  natural  course  of  events, 
or  the  war  will  come  to  an  end,  or  my  sister's  health 
will  break  down.  Something  after  all  must  happen 
which  will  solve  the  difficulty  in  a  simple  and  pleasant 
way." 

Unfortunately  the  major,  being  both  a  doctor  and 
a  soldier,  failed  to  appreciate  the  wisdom  of  Sir  Ulick's 
advice.  He  took  his  stand  upon  a  regulation  and 
seemed  to  think  that  he  was  in  an  impregnable  posi- 
tion. The  result  surprised  him.  Mrs.  Bryan  took  the 
matter  into  her  own  hands.  She  walked  into  the 
major's  office  leaving  an  orderly,  who  had  tried  to  stop 
her,  breathless  in  an  anteroom.  For  nearly  twenty 
minutes  she  talked  fluently  and  forcibly  without  allow- 
ing the  major  to  say  a  single  word.  He  became  more 
and  more  bewildered.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life 
he  was  seized  with  a  paralysing  doubt.  Were  regula- 
tions, after  all,  the  strongest  things  on  earth?  Cowed 
and  battered,  after  several  feeble  attempts  to  defend 
himself,  he  promised  that  Mrs.  Bryan  should  see  his 
senior  officer  and  put  her  case  to  him. 

At  this  point  fortune  favoured  Mrs.  Bryan.  She 
would,  almost  certainly,  have  had  her  way  in  any 
case,  and  rescued  her  son  from  hospital;  but  there  is 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  99 

no  doubt  that  her  path  was  made  easier  for  her  by  a 
stroke  of  luck.  The  senior  medical  officer  happened 
to  be  an  Irishman,  the  son  of  a  country  doctor,  long 
since  dead,  who  had  practised  near  Mrs.  Bryan's  early 
home.  It  was  years,  very  many  years,  since  John 
Nolan,  now  a  General,  had  joined  the  R.A.M.C.  and 
left  his  father's  house.  But  Mrs  Bryan  recognized 
him  the  moment  she  saw  him. 

"  Johnny  Nolan,"  she  said,  "  now  I  do  call  this 
lucky!" 

General  Nolan's  memory  for  faces  was  not  as  good 
as  hers.    But  he  recognized  her  after  a  brief  pause. 

"  Miss  Conolly,"  he  said. 

"  Dear  me,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan,  "  can  it  be  as  long  as 
that  since  I  saw  you?  Let  me  think.  Tom's  twenty- 
iive,  and  I  was  three  years  married  before  he  was 

born.     Do  you  mean  to  say ?     Why,  it  must  be 

close  on  thirty  years  since  we  last  met." 

"  More,"  said  the  General.  "  You  were  only  a  little 
girl  with  your  hair  down  your  back,  on  a  grey  pony, 
about  fourteen  hands,  which  used  to  climb  up  the  banks 
like  a  kitten." 

"  And  you  used  to  borrow  the  butcher's  mare,  when 
you  couldn't  get  your  father's  cob.  I  remember  that 
perfectly  well  because  my  mother  used  to  grumble  that 
we  couldn't  get  the  meat  delivered  on  hunting  days. 
I  wish  I  had  known  a  little  sooner  that  it  was  you  that 
ran  the  hospitals  in  this  country.  I  wouldn't  have 
wasted  my  breath  on  that  major  of  yours  in  the  outer 
office,  frightening  the  poor  man  to  fits  and  talking  my 
own  mouth  as  dry  as  a  biscuit.    Now,  Johnny — I  sup- 


loo  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

pose  I  oughtn't  to  call  you  that  when  you're  a  general, 
but  I  will.  What  I  want  you  to  do  is  this.  My 
son " 

"  Wounded,  I  suppose." 

"  Fancy  your  guessing  that  before  I  said  a  word ! " 
said  Mrs.  Bryan. 

"  And  you  want  to  nurse  him  at  home,  instead  of 

leaving   him   in   hospital Now   my   dear   Mrs. 

Bryan " 

"  When  I  used  to  ride  that  pony,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan, 
"  you  called  me  by  my  Christian  name.  I'm  too  old 
to  make  eyes  at  you  now  and  say,  '  Call  me  Caroline,' 
besides  I  suppose  you're  married  and  it  wouldn't  do." 

"  A  widower,"  said  the  General. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  There's  no  harm  in 
my  trying,  then.  But  I  dare  say  I've  lost  the  trick 
of  it." 

Mrs.  Bryan's  eyes  must  have  been  effective  weapons 
when  she  was  young.  She  could  still  throw  a  good 
deal  of  expression  into  her  glances. 

"Call  me  Caroline,  Johnny,"  she  said,  ogling  him. 

The  General  actually  blushed.  Some  generals  still 
can.  There  is  the  story  of  one  who  was  called  upon 
to  inspect  the  kit  designed  for  the  W.A.A.C.s.  It  was 
displayed  to  him,  garment  after  garment,  by  a  busi- 
ness-like young  woman  who  had  gone  carefully  into 
details.  At  a  certain  stage  of  the  proceedings  the 
General  turned  his  head  away  and  blushed.  General 
Nolan  was  equally  embarrassed. 

He  tried  to  save  appearances  by  adopting  a  strictly 
official  tone. 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  .  ,  «  \^im,\ 

"If  the  matter  rested  with  me "  he  said.     "  But 

my    hands    are    tied.     The    authorities    at    Adastral 
House " 

'*  Now  don't  talk  to  me  about  authorities,"  said  Mrs. 
Bryan.  "  You  know  perfectly  well,  Johnny,  that  au- 
thorities don't  matter  in  the  least,  li  I  thought  they 
did,  I'd  go  and  talk  to  them  myself.  Where's  that 
place  you  spoke  of — Adastral  House?  London,  I 
suppose?  If  you  drive  me  to  it  I'll  go  over  there  and 
talk  to  them." 

"Don't  do  that,"  said  the  General.  "Whatever 
happens  don't  do  that." 

"  And  I'll  say  you  sent  me." 

The  General  put  his  hand  to  his  head  and  smoothed 
back  his  grey  hair.  It  was  a  gesture  of  extreme  per- 
plexity. 

"  The  thing  might  be  managed,"  he  said.  "  It  won't 
be  easy,  but " 

"  It's  perfectly  easy,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  Just  write 
a  short  note  to  the  matron  of  that  hospital  and  tell 
her  to  deliver  up  Tom  to  me.     I'll  manage  the  rest." 

"  That,"  said  the  General,  "  is  impossible.  Believe 
me,  er — ah — Caroline,  it's  totally  impossible." 

"  I  don't  see  any  impossibility  about  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Bryan.  "  But  I  suppose  you're  afraid  of  what  that 
major  in  your  outer  office  would  say  if  you  did  it." 

"  I  am,"  said  General  Nolan.  "  That's  exactly  what 
I  am  afraid  of.  These  young  men — their  respect  for 
rules  and  regulations " 

"  Makes  me  sick,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan. 

"Look  here,"   said   the   General,   "have  you  any 


.ID2.. ,UP,  THE  REBELS! 

objection  to'  your 'House  being  registered  as  a  con- 
valescent home  for  officers?" 

"If  that  means  that  youVe  going  to  fill  the  whole 
place  up  with  hospital  nurses,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan,  **  I 
have  the  strongest  possible  objection.  I  don't  mind 
taking  a  few  nice  boys.  But  I  won't  have  nurses  or 
V.A.D.s.    Minxes,  most  of  them." 

"  You  won't  have  a  single  nurse,"  said  the  General. 
"And  you  needn't  have  any  sick  officers  unless  you 

want  them.     I'll  register  your  house What  do 

you  call  it,  by  the  way  ?  " 

"  Dunally." 

"  Very  well.  I'll  register  Dunally  House  as  a  con- 
valescent home  for  wounded  officers  with  accommoda- 
tion for  one  patient.  Then  I'll  have  your  son  boarded. 
I'll  board  him  myself  to  make  sure.  I'll  pass  him  for 
treatment  in  a  convalescent  home,  and  he  can  put  in  an 
application  to  be  sent  to  Dunally.  I'll  see  that  the 
application  goes  through.  Your  name  needn't  appear. 
Of  course  there'll  be  some  rules  about  the  management 
and  so  forth;  but " 

"  I  shan't  mind  the  rules  in  the  least,"  said  Mrs. 
Bryan. 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  will.  And  there'll  be  inspec- 
tions.   The  house  must  be  inspected  occasionally." 

"  Come  down  on  the  first  Tuesday  next  month," 
said  Mrs.  Bryan,  "  and  do  your  inspection  then.  The 
meet's  in  the  village  that  day.  I  have  a  mare  that  will 
carry  you;  bought  her  off  Con  Piltown  the  solicitor; 
got  her  cheap  because  he  thought  the  Sinn  Feiners 
meant  to  stop  the  hunting  this  winter.     I  didn't  be- 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  103 

licve  even  the  Sinn  Feiners  would  do  a  thing  like 
that,  so  I  bought  the  mare  and  chanced  it.  I  meant 
her  for  Tom;  but  you  can  ride  her.  By  the  way,  I 
suppose  I  can  get  Tom  by  the  end  of  this  week?  " 

"  Hardly.  Hardly  so  soon  as  that.  There  are 
formalities." 

''Formalities!  Why  on  earth  can't  you  do  a  thing 
in  a  sensible  way  when  you  are  doing  it.  However, 
I  ought  to  be  thankful  to  get  it  done  at  all.  This  is 
what  Tom  calls  'wangling,'  I  suppose?" 

"  It  is,"  said  the  General,  "  quite  a  good  illustra- 
tion of  the  meaning  of  w'angling." 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan,  "  I  prefer  riding  straight 
myself,  but  if  you " 

"  Don't  be  hard  on  me,  Caroline,"  said  the  Gen- 
eral.    "  I'd   rather  go   straight  too.     But   there   are 

occasions Hang  it  all,  you  wouldn't  ride  straight 

at  barbed  wire,  would  you?  " 

"Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan,  "if  it's  barbed  wire " 

"All  regulations  are  barbed  wire,"  said  the 
General. 


CHAPTER  X 

IT  was  not  to  be  supposed  that  General  Nolan 
could  fulfil  his  promises  without  a  good  deal  of 
delay.  He  was  a  soldier  and  not  a  politician,  so 
he  fully  intended  to  keep  his  word.  But  the  "  board- 
ing" of  a  wounded  officer  and  the  establishment  of  a 
new  convalescent  home  are  not  things  which  can  be 
done  in  a  moment.  Unfortunately  Mrs.  Bryan  was 
not  a  reasonable  woman.  She  herself  always  acted 
promptly.  She  could  not  understand  the  obstacles 
which  blocked  General  Nolan's  way. 

She  called  at  his  office  every  day,  which  he  did  not 
object  to  because  he  was  almost  always  out.  She  took 
to  writing  letters  on  her  own  account  to  Headquarters 
in  London.  The  staff  major  in  General  Nolan's  office 
always  put  the  blame  for  the  delay  on  the  London 
Headquarters.  At  last  she  sent  a  telegram  of  a  per- 
emptory kind  in  which  she  said  that  she  meant  to  cross 
to  London  herself  at  once  to  get  things  settled  defi- 
nitely.   This  produced  an  immediate  effect. 

Tom  Bryan,  his  pipe  in  his  mouth,  was  limping 
round  the  billiard  table  provided  for  the  use  of  officers 
in  his  hospital.  It  was  a  very  poor  table,  and  Tom's 
opponent  was  a  subaltern  who  played  badly.  The 
evening,  like  other  evenings  when  no  leave  to  dine  out 
was  obtainable,  passed  slowly.  But  Tom  was  blessed 
with  a  buoyant  temper.     He  managed  to  start  a  mild 

104 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  :io5 

but  amusing  flirtation  with  a  red-haired  V.A.D.  who 
came  in  from  time  to  time  to  put  coal  on  the  fire.  No 
V.A.D.  can  possibly  like  putting  coal  on  a  fire.  This 
one  did  it  several  times  in  the  course  of  the  evening. 
She  probably  did  like  the  way  Tom  talked  to  her. 

At  half-past  nine  she  came  into  the  room  hurriedly. 
Tom  stopped  in  the  middle  of  a  yawn  and  smiled  at 
her. 

"  You're  w^anted  on  the  telephone,  Captain  Bryan," 
she  said,  "  and  matron  says  you're  to  come  at  once. 
It's  a  trunk  call,  and  she  can't  hold  the  line." 

Tom  Bryan,  agreeably  surprised  and  much  inter- 
ested, hurried  to  the  telephone. 

A  thin  voice  greeted  him  from  an  immense  distance. 

"That  Captain  Bryan?  Right.  This  is  Adastral 
House.     Yes.     Ad-as-tral  House,  London." 

Tom  had  seen  his  mother  every  day  and  had  been 
kept  in  touch  with  the  details  of  her  struggle  against 
the  Army  Medical  authorities.  He  knew  what  Adas- 
tral House  was  and  began  to  feel  a  little  nervous.  It 
was  possible,  he  feared,  that  some  great  personage, 
goaded  to  extreme  exasperation,  might  have  ordered 
him  off  to  a  lunatic  asylum  in  the  north  of  Scotland. 
The  next  words  reassured  him.  It  is  difficult,  at  a 
distance  of  300  miles,  to  be  sure  of  the  tone  in  which 
words  are  spoken.  But  it  seemed  to  Tom  that  the 
speaker  was  nervous  too. 

"  Tell  your  mother,"  the  voice  went  on.  "  She  is 
your  mother,  not  your  wife?" 

"  Not  married,"  said  Tom. 

"  Can't  hear."  ^ 


io6  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

"  Not  married  yet,"  said  Tom  distinctly. 

"  All  right.  Your  mother,  then.  Tell  her  it's  quite 
unnecessary  for  her  to  come  over  here.  Your  transfer 
is  being  put  through.     Understand?     She  need  not 

come  over  here.    In  fact "    The  voice  took  a  note 

of  authority.    "  She — is — not — to — come.    You  are  to 
arrange  that  she  doesn't.    Got  that?  "    , 

"  Yes.     But Look  here— she's " 

The  voice  began  to  sound  distinctly  irritable. 

"Not  to  come  here,"  it  said.  "That's  an  order. 
Understand?  " 

Tom  chuckled.  He  did  not  knov^  v^ho  was  speaking 
to  him,  but  he  hoped  it  was  a  general. 

"  I  can't  give  orders,"  he  said.  "  She's  not  my  wife. 
I  told  you  that  before.  She's  my  mother.  A  man 
can't  give  orders  to " 

There  was  an  angry  buzz  on  the  wire  and  then  a 
sudden  snap.  Tom  turned  away  grinning.  The 
matron,  grave  and  benevolent,  stood  near  him.  Be- 
hind her  was  the  red-haired  V.A.D.  giggling.  She 
had  heard  Tom's  side  of  the  conversation.  "  Not  mar- 
ried. Not  married  yet."  "  I  can't  give  orders,  she's 
not  my  wife."  Any  V.A.D.  would  giggle  over  a  situa- 
tion half  revealed  in  words  like  these. 

"  I  expect,"  said  Tom  cheerfully,  "  that  it  must  have 
been  a  general.  No  one  else  could  use  language  strong 
enough  to  break  a  telephone  wire." 

Next  day,  after  his  leg  had  been  duly  examined  by 
a  surgeon  and  re-bandaged  by  a  V.A.D.,  Tom  limped 
off  to  his  uncle's  office. 

"  I  say,  Uncle  Ulick,"  he  said.     "  The  mater  has 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  107 

been  at  the  War  Office  and  they've  got  the  wind  up 
properly." 

''It's  their  own  fault."  said  Sir  Ulick.  ''  I  don't  pity 
them.  I  told  that  staff  officer  he  was  handling  the 
matter  all  wrong.  But  he  wouldn't  listen  to  me. 
That's  the  way  things  get  muddled,  Tom.  Foolish 
people  will  not  take  advice  from  the  men  who  know." 

Sir  Ulick  spoke  with  bitterness  born  of  a  recent 
experience  of  the  evil  he  deplored.  He  had  that  morn- 
ing received  a  note,  marked  strictly  private  and  con- 
fidential, from  the  Chief  Secretary.  It  announced 
that  Conscription  was  to  be  put  in  force  in  Ireland 
without  delay.  Miss  Murphy  was  at  that  moment  fil- 
ing the  note  among  Sir  Ulick's  confidential  papers. 
But  Tom  knew  nothing  about  this.  His  mind  was 
entirely  occupied  with  his  own  affairs. 

"I  don't  know  about  the  staff  officer.  But  the 
mater  seems  to  have  handled  things  top  hole.  The 
transfer  is  going  through  right  away.  That  fellow 
said  so." 

"What  fellow?" 

"The  fellow  on  the  telephone.  Didn't  I  tell  you? 
A  big  pot  of  some  sort  rang  me  up  last  night  from 
London.  Told  me  the  transfer  was  going  through 
which  is  his  way  of  saying  that  I  shall  be  able  jolly 
well  to  scoot  for  home  in  a  few  days.  I  can  tell' you, 
Uncle  Ulick,  the  mater's  a  wonderful  woman.  No 
one  else  could  have  done  it,  not  even  you,  Uncle  Ulick, 
though  you  do  govern  Ireland." 

"  That's  the  popular  idea,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "  But 
it's  a  delusion.    I  don't." 


io8  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

*'  All  the  same  there's  no  use  the  mater  going  too 
far.  If  she  gets  their  backs  up  some  of  these  brass 
hats  are  frightfully  vindictive.  They  could  make 
things  nasty  for  me,  you  know.  And  if  the  mater 
strafes  them  more  than  they  can  stand,  they'll  natu- 
rally want  to  get  a  bit  of  their  own  back,  cut  off  my 
leg  or  something,  see?  Now  what  they  don't 
want  is  to  have  her  ragging  them  to  their  faces 
in  London." 

"  She  intends  to  go  over,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "  She 
told  me  so  this  morning." 

"  Can't  you  stop  her?"  said  Tom. 
"My  dear  Tom!     Surely  by  this  time  you  must 
know  your  own  mother.    If  I  were  to  say  to  her  that 

she'd  better  not  go  to  London " 

"  She'd  be  off  by  the  next  boat,"  said  Tom.  "  I 
know  that.  But  that's  not  the  only  way  of  doing 
things.  There's  what's  called  diplomacy.  Now  I 
should  think  that  a  man  like  you.  Uncle  Ulick,  who's 
accustomed  to  governing  Ireland  every  day  must  be 
A  I  at  diplomacy.  After  all  it's  your  job.  Couldn't 
you  head  her  off?  I  should  think  that  if  you  got  her 
really  interested  in  something  else.  Isn't  there  a 
scrap  on  about  petrol  ?  I'm  only  making  suggestions, 
but  it  seems  to  me  that  if  you  could  turn  her  on  to  the 
petrol  johnny,  whoever  he  is,  if  you  told  her  how  nice 

it  would  be  to  get  his  scalp " 

Sir  Ulick  shook  his  head.  The  correspondence  with 
the  petrol  committee  was  running  a  normal  course.  It 
was  quite  unexciting.  Besides,  high  officials  have  a 
sense  of  brotherhood.     Sir  Ulick  could  not  give  en- 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  109 

couragement  to  members  of  the  public  who  were  out 
to  take  the  scalp  of  another  official. 

"  Perhaps  that  idea  mightn't  work,"  said  Tom. 
"  But  I'm  sure  you'll  hit  on  something,  Uncle  Ulick, 
if  you  think  it  over.  I'm  quite  satisfied  to  leave 
it  to  you.  Only  I  really  think  you'll  have  to  head  her 
off  somehow,  divert  her  attention,  you  know." 

"I'll  try,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "I  quite  see  that  it 
ought  to  be  done.  Now,  what  about  lunch?  I'm 
going  round  to  the  club.  You  may  as  well  come 
with  me." 

"'Fraid  I  can't,'*  said  Tom.  "Fact  is,  I  rather 
thought " 

"  There'll  be  some  of  that  cold  game  pie  left,  I  ex- 
pect," said  Sir  Ulick,  "  You  seemed  to  like  it  yes- 
terday." 

"  The  pie  was  absolutely  it,"  said  Tom.  "  But  I 
rather  thought I  say,  is  that  nice  little  type- 
writing girl  in  to-day?  The  one  I  met  here  once 
before?" 

**  Miss  Murphy?    Yes,  she's  in  the  office." 

"  I  rather  thought  of  taking  her  out  to  lunch,"  said 
Tom.  "  There's  a  place  called  the  Bonne  Boiiche.  I 
don't  say  it's  up  to  your  club  in  the  way  of  game  pie. 
But  the  grub's  not  bad.  Now  my  idea  is  to  take  Miss 
Murphy,  if  she'll  come.    Of  course,  if  she  won't " 

"  If  she  won't,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  "you'd  better  come 
with  me.     I'll  wait  ten  minutes  for  you." 

Tom  found  Miss  Murphy  at  her  typewriter.  He 
greeted  her  in  a  friendly  and  cheerful  manner.  Miss 
Murphy  received  the  greeting  coldly.     This  was  not 


no  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

surprising.  Only  the  night  before  she  had  read  to 
the  Cailini  na  h'Eirinn  a  paper  on  the  shameful  way 
some  Irish  girls — or  rather  some  girls  in  Ireland  who 
were  unworthy  of  the  title  Irish — degraded  themselves 
and  betrayed  their  country  by  making  friends  with 
men  who  wore  the  hateful  uniform  of  England.  It 
was  not  to  be  expected  that  she  would  smile  on  Tom 
Bryan. 

Tom  was  undismayed. 

"  I  was  just  wondering,"  he  said,  "whether  you  could 
put  me  on  to  a  really  nice  place  for  lunch.  I  expect 
you  know  all  the  really  nice  places  there  are.  A  man 
I  met  yesterday  was  talking  to  me  about  a  place  called 
the  Bonne  Bouche.  It's  all  right  for  ladies,  quite 
fashionable,  in  fact.  Really  nice  people  go  there.  I 
thought  perhaps  if  you  hadn't  any  particular  engage- 
ment you  might  take  me  round  to  it.  I  hate  going  to 
these  swagger  places  by  myself.  Makes  me  shy.  Now 
if  you'd  come — lunch  with  me,  of  course.  I'd  like  it 
awfully  if  you  did,  and  I'm  told  that  the  grub's  first 
class.  It  might  amuse  you,  you  know.  And  even  if  it 
didn't  you  have  to  lunch  somewhere,  and  it  would  be 
a  real  kindness  to  me." 

Miss  Murphy  had  not  the  least  intention  of  doing 
a  kindness  to  any  one  in  uniform.  She  was  a  young 
woman  of  rigid  patriotism  and  the  highest  principles. 
She  remembered,  besides,  that  Tom  was  a  particu- 
larly hateful  kind  of  soldier.  He  had  told  her  him- 
self that  he  was  an  officer  in  the  military  Secret  Service 
in  Ireland.  Suddenly,  while  he  was  ambling  through 
his  invitation,  a  great  idea  occurred  to  her.    Women 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  iii 

have  saved  their  countries  before  now  by  insinuating 
themselves  into  the  confidence  of  the  agents  of  the 
enemy.  Miss  Murphy  did  not  read  novels,  because 
there  are  no  novels  written  in  the  Irish  language,  but 
in  far  off  unregenerate  days  she  had  read  some  novels. 
She  kept  a  dim  memory  of  the  great  part  sometimes 
played  in  international  affairs  by  beautiful  female 
spies.  Conscription  was  to  be  forced  on  Ireland,  a 
desperate  measure,  designed  to  destroy  the  last  rem- 
nants of  a  noble  race.  The  man  before  her  was,  by 
his  own  account,  deeply  implicated  in  the  plot  of  the 
tyrants. 

Miss  Murphy  was  stunned  by  the  splendour  of  a 
sudden  thought.  She  flushed.  Tom  Bryan  noticed 
the  flush  and,  very  naturally,  misinterpreted  it.  He 
continued  to  press  his  invitation. 

"  There's  music  in  the  place  I  mean.  A  girl  plays 
the  piano  and  another  the  fiddle.  Rather  jolly  that, 
you  know.  And  a  man  I  met,  the  same  fellow  who 
put  me  on  to  the  place  originally,  told  me  that  they're 
awfully  decent  sort  of  girls.  They  play  anything  you 
ask  them — by  request,  you  know.  We  might  have 
'  The  Long  Trail.'  I'm  rather  fond  of  that  tune,  but 
perhaps  you'd  rather  have  something  else.  '  You  called 
me  Baby  Doll '  is  jolly  too." 

Miss  Murphy  formed  a  great  resolution,  nerved  her- 
self for  a  supreme  sacrifice.  Had  she  not  that  very 
morning  filed  a  confidential  note,  sent  to  Sir  Ulick, 
which  announced  the  swift  coming  of  the  tragedy? 
Had  not  Captain  Bryan's  visit  to  the  office  fallen  pat 
with  the  arrival  of  the  news?    Would  not  information 


112  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

about  the  Government's  plans  be  of  the  utmost  value 
to  Mr.  Patterson  and  others;  to  Mr.  Bettany,  who 
might  have  to  flee  to  some  more  distant  land,  to  Peter 
Maillia,  who  would  have  to  arm  and  fight? 

She  looked  up  at  Tom  Bryan.  She  forced  her  lips 
to  smile.     She  agreed  to  go  out  to  luncheon  with  him. 

"  Right-o,"  said  Tom.  "  I  call  that  really  nice  of 
you.  But  I  knew  you  must  be  a  good  sort,  knew  it  the 
very  minute  I  saw  you  the  first  day  I  came  here.'* 

Miss  Murphy  went  away  to  put  on  her  hat.  Tom 
opened  the  door  of  Sir  Ulick's  private  office  and  put 
his  head  and  shoulders  into  the  room. 

"  Uncle  Ulick,"  he  said,  "  tell  them  to  keep  a  bit 
of  that  game  pie  till  to-morrow.  I  am  not  going  with 
you  to-day." 

Sir  Ulick  looked  round.  Tom  winked  at  him  and 
then  closed  the  door. 

Tom  enjoyed  his  luncheon  very  much.  Miss  Mur- 
phy turned  out  to  be  an  agreeable  young  woman.  She 
made  every  effort  to  be  pleasant.  She  often  smiled. 
She  even  rolled  her  eyes  at  him  occasionally.  From 
Miss  Murphy's  point  of  view  the  party  was  not  alto- 
gether a  success.  Tom  seemed  entirely  uninterested 
in  Irish  politics.  The  subject  of  conscription,  intro- 
duced with  the  greatest  difficulty  amid  a  shower  of 
lighter  topics,  only  drew  from  him  one  unenlightening 
remark. 

"  Jolly  good  thing  to  make  some  of  those  rotten 
slackers  buck  up  a  bit." 

Miss  Murphy,  tingling  to  the  finger  tips  with  shame, 
actually  said  she  agreed  with  him      Tom  seemed  to 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  113 

take  that  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  passed  from  con- 
scription to  a  more  congenial  topic.  When  Miss  Mur- 
phy made  her  report  to  Mr.  Patterson  that  evening  she 
was  able  to  speak  with  definite  assurance  about  the 
Government's  intention,  but  had  nothing  at  all  to  tell 
about  the  manner  in  which  the  evil  deed  would  be 
done.  She  had  not  even  a  hint  about  the  date  of  be- 
ginning. 


CHAPTER  XI 

SIR  ULICK  sat  by  himself  in  his  office  after  Tom 
Bryan  left  him.  He  pushed  away  the  papers  in 
front  of  him,  lay  back  in  his  chair  and  stared  at 
a  map  of  Ireland  which  hung  on  the  wall  of  his  room. 
Now  and  then  he  stroked  his  upper  lip  with  his  fore- 
finger, a  gesture  not  uncommon  with  him  when  he  felt 
perplexed. 

Though  he  stared  at  the  map  of  Ireland  it  was  not 
the  condition  of  the  country  which  troubled  him.  He 
had  occupied  his  high  position  long  enough  to  have 
become  thoroughly  inured  to  the  condition  of  Ireland. 
He  enjoyed  the  efforts  of  flamboyant  orators  as  much 
as  any  one,  and  was  not  in  the  least  disturbed  when 
politicians  of  one  kind  or  another  talked  of  dying  on 
the  scaffold  for  their  country,  or  in  the  last  ditch  for 
civil  and  religious  liberty.  He  recognized  as  all  sensi- 
ble men  must  that  every  one  has  a  right  to  make  his 
living  as  best  he  can.  If  a  nation,  either  by  Act  of 
Parliament  or  by  voluntary  subscriptions,  chooses  to 
pay  men  to  make  speeches,  then  the  making  of  speeches 
is  a  legitimate  trade. 

But  Sir  Ulick  was  aware  that  a  new  kind  of  na- 
tionalism was  making  itself  felt  below  the  frothing 
surface  of  Irish  affairs.  Mr.  Alfred  Patterson  made 
few  speeches,  and  most  of  those  he  made  were  of  a 
severely  logical  kind,  dealing  chiefly  with  economics. 

114 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  115 

Sir  Ulick  did  not  quite  understand  Mr.  Patterson. 
The  man  had  been  mixed  up  with  the  ill-starred  re- 
bellion of  1916.  The  police  assured  Sir  Ulick  of  this. 
He  professed  to  be  working  for  the  establishment  of 
an  independent  Irish  Republic.  So  far  he  was  suffi- 
ciently simple,  in  Ireland  even  commonplace.  Yet  Sir 
Ulick  was  puzzled.  Parnell,  an  ardent  Nationalist, 
had  used  the  discontent  of  the  Irish  farmers  as  the 
motive  power  of  his  Home  Rule  movement.  Wolfe 
Tone — Sir  Ulick  read  history  occasionally — had  used 
the  sacred  name  of  Nationalism  as  a  garment  in  which 
to  cover  the  naked  principles  of  the  French  Revolution. 
Mr.  Patterson  had  discovered  a  new  force  in  Irish  life, 
the  vague,  insurgent  socialism  of  labour.  Sir  Ulick 
could  not  feel  certain  whether  Mr.  Patterson  was  an 
imitator  of  Parnell,  and  meant  to  use  social  discontent 
as  the  driving  force  of  nationalism,  or  a  disciple  of 
Wolfe  Tone,  aiming  at  a  social  revolution  which  he 
commended  to  respectable  people,  priests  and  other 
bourgeois,  by  draping  it  in  the  flags  of  nationalism. 

The  problem  was  an  interesting  one,  and  its  solu- 
tion had,  for  a  practical  man,  a  certain  importance. 
But  Sir  Ulick,  though  puzzled,  was  not  actually  wor- 
ried by  it.  What  made  him  uneasy  was  the  knowledge 
that  his  daughter  was  becoming  more  and  more  inti- 
mate with  Mr.  Patterson.  The  police  gave  him  this 
information  in  their  confidential  reports.  Mona  her- 
self made  no  secret  of  the  fact. 

Sir  Ulick  had  never  troubled  himself  much  about 
his  daughter's  amusements.  He  knew  that  there  are 
girls  who   find   pleasure   in  admiring  minor  poetry, 


ii6  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

solemn  novels  and  sordid  plays,  who  take  themselves 
and  life  very  seriously;  that  there  are  others  who  de- 
vote themselves  to  causes  of  one  kind  or  another, 
joining  many  societies,  and  becoming  in  consequence 
somewhat  dull.  The  advocacy  of  a  cause  is  not,  as 
Sir  Ulick  recognized,  a  reprehensible  thing,  but  he 
would  have  preferred  a  daughter  with  simpler  tastes, 
a  fondness  for  clothes,  for  instance,  or  for  lawn 
tennis,  or  for  well-brushed  young  men.  But  he  was 
aware  that  every  girl  must  be  allowed  to  find  her  own 
amusements  and  that  it  is  just  as  foolish  to  deliver 
warnings  against  seriousness  as  it  is  to  give  lectures 
on  the  dangers  of  frivolity. 

Irish  nationalism,  of  the  old-fashioned  kind,  by 
which  worthy  men  used  to  earn  a  decent  livelihood,  had 
no  attraction  for  Mona.  Her  father  gave  her  a  gener- 
ous allowance,  and  would  have  increased  it  if  she  had 
asked  him.  The  newer  Irish  nationalism,  the  literary 
cult  which  Mona  affected,  seemed  to  Sir  Ulick  no  more 
foolish  than  any  other  cult.  He  did  not  think  of 
interfering  with  his  daughter's  taste  for  Gaelic  clothes 
and  Irish  speech.  But  her  friendship  with  Alfred  Pat- 
terson was  a  different  matter.  There  might  very 
easily  be  more  fighting  in  Ireland  and  Patterson  might 
be  the  moving  spirit  of  a  new  rebellion.  Sir  Ulick  re- 
membered the  confidential  note  he  had  received  that 
morning  from  London.  An  attempt  to  enforce  con- 
scription in  Ireland  would  give  Mr.  Patterson  an 
opportunity  if  the  man  really  wished  to  provoke  a 
fresh  rising.  And  street  fighting  in  Irish  towns, 
though  it  does  not  imperil  the  British  Empire,  is  cer- 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  117 

tainly  dangerous  to  those  mixed  up  in  it.  Sir  Ulick 
had  no  objection  to  his  daughter  dressing  herself  Hke 
Maeve  or  Deirdre  but  he  did  not  want  to  see  her  fol- 
lowing the  example  of  certain  Irish  heroines  of  more 
recent  times. 

He  frowned,  and  continued  to  stroke  his  upper  lip 
with  rapid,  gentle  movements  of  his  finger. 

Sir  Ulick  was  far  too  wise  a  man  to  treat  generaliza- 
tions like  mathematical  truths.     He  did  not,  for  in- 
stance, believe  that  every  man  had  his  price,  though 
he  knew  that  it  is  generally  safe  to  assume  that  most 
men  want  money.     He  neither  said  nor  thought  that 
girls  devote  themselves  to  causes  only  when  starved 
of  proper  amusements.     He  did  not  think  that  young 
women  become  extremely  religious  only  after  a  dis- 
appointment in  love.    But  he  held  that  there  are  things 
more  naturally  attractive  to  youth  than  causes  or  ex- 
treme religiosity.    Hunting,  for  instance,  given  a  good 
horse  and  an  ability  to  ride,  ought  to  be  pleasanter  to 
a  girl  than  talking  Irish.     Flirting,  a  suitable  young 
man  being  available,  ought  to  win  against  the  study  of 
minor  poetry.    Human  nature  being  what  it  is,  a  com- 
plex affair  in  which  body  and  soul  are  a  good  deal 
mixed,  a  young  man  of  the  right  sort  is  likely  to  be 
more  completely  satisfying,  even  at  first  more  excit- 
ing, than  social  science. 

Sir  Ulick  remembered  Tom  Bryan's  smiling  face 
at  the  door  of  his  office  and  the  joyful  wink  which 
announced  that  he  had  persuaded  Miss  Murphy  to 
lunch  with  him.  Tom  was  certainly  a  pleasant  boy. 
He  wore  uniform.     His  limp  added   a  pathetic  at- 


Ti8  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

traction  to  him.  On  his  coat  was  the  ribbon  of  the 
Military  Cross  won  by  great  gallantry  and  devotion 
to  duty.  According  to  all  old-fashioned  theories,  the 
wounded  hero  is  very  attractive  to  young  women.  Sir 
Ulick  was  wise  enough  to  recognize  the  element  of 
truth  in  most  old-fashioned  theories,  which  are  after 
all  based  on  wide  experience.  He  did  not  wish  Tom 
to  marry  Mona.  There  was  the  difficulty  of  close 
relationship.  There  was  the  unfortunate  fact  that 
Tom  was  not  intellectual.  But  cousinship  has  its  ad- 
vantages. It  offers  chances  of  stimulating  and  pleas- 
ant intimacy. 

Sir  Ulick  remembered  that  his  sister  was  a  hunting 
woman,  a  lover  of  horses  and  hounds.  She  was,  in 
her  enthusiasm,  amazingly  youthful.  There  is  noth- 
ing more  infectious  than  enthusiasm,  especially  the 
enthusiasm  of  youth.  Sir  Ulick  sighed.  He  himself 
was  growing  old  and  all  enthusiasm  had  departed 
from  him.  But  Mrs.  Bryan,  five  years  his  senior,  was 
still  young.  There  rose  to  memory  a  day,  two  years 
before.  He  sat  in  a  motor  wrapped  in  rugs  and  coats. 
The  hounds  worked  through  a  covert  near  the  road. 
His  sister  was  beside  him  on  a  young  horse  that 
fidgeted  and  plunged.  There  came  a  call  from  the 
covert.  The  young  horse  swung  round,  Mrs.  Bryan, 
her  thin  figure  poised,  her  face  eager,  her  eyes  shining, 
galloped  away.     H  Mona  could  be  persuaded 

Sir  Ulick  smiled.  He  was  stroking  his  upper  lip 
less  frequently.  He  took  a  silver  case  from  his 
pocket,  opened  it  and  lit  a  cigarette. 

Tom  had  urged  on  him  the  necessity  of  diverting 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  119 

Mrs.  Bryan's  mind  from  the  interest  of  her  battle 
with  the  Army  Medical  authorities.  He  was,  on  his 
own  account,  desirous  of  allowing  the  correspondence 
with  the  Petrol  Committee  and  that  with  the  Depart- 
ment of  Agriculture  to  lapse  as  soon  as  possible.  It 
occurred  to  him  that  Mrs.  Bryan  might  easily  be  in- 
duced to  take  over  the  work  of  persuading  Mona  to  go 
down  to  Dunally  for  the  hunting  season.  Tom  would 
be  there.  Alfred  Patterson  would  not.  There  were 
horses  in  abundance.  His  sister  was  perpetually  buy- 
ing, training  and  selling  horses.  It  would  be  almost 
impossible  in  Dunally  to  retain  a  real  interest  in  the 
prospects  of  an  independent  Irish  Republic. 

And  Mrs.  Bryan  was  a  very  persistent  woman.  If 
she  undertook  the  task  of  persuading  Mona  to  leave 
Dublin  she  would  stick  to  it  day  and  night  without 
pause  or  rest.  This  might  not  be  very  pleasant  for 
Mona;  but  Mona  was  a  troublesome  young  woman. 
She  had  been  a  cause  of  worry  to  her  father.  It  was 
quite  fair  that  she  should  be  worried  a  little  in  her 
turn. 

Sir  Ulick  walked  down  to  the  club.  He  ordered  a 
fried  sole  and  a  glass  of  sherry.  He  made  himself 
very  agreeable  to  a  man  who  shared  his  table,  a  coun- 
try gentleman,  with  a  grievance.  Sir  Ulick's  way  of 
making  himself  agreeable  was  simple  and  not  exhaust- 
ing. He  listened  sympathetically  to  a  detailed  account 
of  the  grievance.  The  steward  of  the  club,  a  very 
clever  man,  had  somehow  secured  a  Stilton  cheese,  at 
that  time  an  almost  unobtainable  luxury.  When  he 
had  finished  the  sole  Sir  Ulick  had  a  piece  of  Stilton 


I20  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

cheese  and  a  glass  of  port.  Black  care  no  longer  sat 
behind  him  while  he  drank  his  coffee  and  smoked  a 
cigarette. 

Sir  Ulick,  though  he  disliked  definite  action  of  any 
kind,  could  act  promptly  if  driven  to  it.  That  evening 
after  dinner  he  spoke  to  his  sister  about  Mona.  Mrs. 
Bryan  settled  herself  as  usual  in  a  chair  in  front  of 
the  fire.  Sir  Ulick  saw  that  she  was  supplied  with 
chocolates,  bringing  a  little  silver  dish  with  him  from 
the  dinner  table.  Mona  fidgeted  restlessly  about  the 
room  with  a  cigarette  in  her  mouth.  Before  it  was 
half  smoked  she  threw  it  away  and  said  good  night 
to  her  father  and  aunt. 

"  Going  into  Dublin  to-night?  "  said  Sir  Ulick. 

"  No,"  said  Mona,  "  only  to  my  own  room.  But 
I  may  not  see  you  again  to-night.  I  shall  be  rather 
busy.  There  are  two  or  three  people  coming  to  see 
me  on  business." 

"  Ah,"  said  Sir  Ulick. 

"Mr.  Bettany,"  said  Mona,  *'and  Mr.  Patterson, 
and  probably  Peter  Maillia." 

Mona  hoped  perhaps  that  Sir  Ulick  would  challenge 
her  list  of  visitors  and  make  some  objection  to  her 
entertaining  a  fugitive  pacifist,  a  notorious  rebel  and 
a  publican's  son.  Sir  Ulick  was  far  too  wise  a  man 
to  do  anything  of  the  sort.  Mrs.  Bryan,  her  mouth 
full  of  chocolates,  chuckled.  Mona,  a  little  disap- 
pointed, swept  out  of  the  room. 

"  Caroline,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  "  Fm  rather  worried." 

"  Fm  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan,  "  it's  quite 
time  you  were  worried  about  something.     It's  men 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  121 

like  you,  Toodles,  who  simply  won't  worry  at  all,  who 
are  responsible  for  the  condition  of  this  country. 
What  we  want  in  Ireland  is  a  man  who  takes  himself 
and  the  country  seriously  instead  of  going  about  grin- 
ning feebly  as  if  everything  was  a  bad  joke.  Take 
that  ridiculous  tillage  Order,  for  instance " 

"  I  had  another  note  from  the  Board  of  Agriculture 
to-day,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "  I'll  show  it  to  you  after- 
wards. What  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about  now 
is " 

"  If  it's  Tom's  business,  I  may  tell  you  that  I've 
put  off  going  over  to  London  till  next  week.  Johnny 
Nolan  made  a  point  of  my  not  starting  to-morrow 
and  Tom  seemed  to  think  I'd  better  not.  So  if  that's 
what  is  worrying  you " 

"  It  isn't.  I'm  sure  that'll  be  settled  all  right.  The 
fact  is,  Caroline,  that  I'm  uneasy  about  Mona." 

"  I  don't  wonder.  The  next  thing  we'll  hear  about 
that  girl  is  that  she's  going  to  marry  old  Maillia's  son. 
I  don't  know  whether  you'll  like  that,  Toodles.  I 
shan't.  A  barefooted  gossure  w^ho  used  to  be  glad 
enough  to  earn  a  shilling  weeding  my  avenue  until  he 
took  to  writing  poetry  and  came  up  to  Dublin  to  be 
educated.  Cock  the  likes  of  him  up  with  education! 
But  it's  your  own  fault,  Toodles.  You've  nobody  to 
blame  but  yourself.  If  you'd  bcught  that  girl  a 
horse " 

"The  trouble  is,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  "that  Mona 
doesn't  want  a  horse." 

"  Don't  talk  nonsense.  Every  girl  wants  a  horse. 
I  was  a  girl  myself  once  and  I  know.    Just  you  give 


122  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

Mona  three  days  a  week  with  a  good  pack  and  at  the 
end  of  the  season  she  won't  care  two  rows  of  pins  for 
all  the  poetry  ever  written  by  snivelling  little  beasts  like 
Peter  Maillia.  What's  more  she'd  have  given  up 
sloppy  clothes  and  taken  to  dressing  like  an  ordinary 
human  being.  It  isn't  as  if  she  can't  ride.  She  can. 
I  taught  her  myself  before  she  was  fifteen." 

"  Caroline,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  ''  if  you'll  take  Mona 
down  to  Dunally  with  you  and  give  her  three  days  a 
week  with  your  hounds  I'll  buy  any  horse  you  choose 
to  sell  me  and  I  won't  attempt  to  knock  a  penny  off 
the  price  you  name." 

'*  That's  the  first  really  sensible  thing  I've  heard 
you  say  for  years,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  The  part 
about  Mona,  I  mean,  not  what  you  said  about  the 
horse.  Nobody  but  a  fool  would  talk  about  buying 
a  horse  in  that  way.  Though  as  a  matter  of  fact  I 
shouldn't  stick  you  badly  even  if  you  did  leave  it  en- 
tirely in  my  hands.  I  have  a  young  mare  out  of  Lady 
Hetty — you  remember  Lady  Hetty,  Toodles.  I  hunted 
her  for  four  years.  I  had  the  mare  I'm  thinking  of  out 
cubbing  two  or  three  times  and  she's  shaping  very  well. 
If  I  didn't  think  Mona  could  ride  I  wouldn't  trust  that 
mare  to  her.  If  you  don't  like  the  price  I  ask  you  for 
her,  Toodles,  I'll  promise  to  buy  her  back  at  the  same 
figure  at  the  end  of  the  season,  bar  accidents  of  course. 
She'll  be  worth  more  to  me.  She'll  be  worth  more  to 
any  one  next  year.  But  if  you'd  rather  stick  to  her, 
you  can.    I  shan't  make  any  difficulty  either  way." 

"  The  only  difficulty  I  foresee,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  *'  is 
the  difficulty  of  persuading  Mona  to  go." 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  123 

"  Nonsense/'  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  The  girl's  flesh 
and  blood,  I  suppose,  like  the  rest  of  us.  She'll  do 
what  every  other  girl  in  the  world  would  do  if  she 
got  the  chance." 

"If  you  can  persuade  her,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "  Even 
if  you  can't  I  shall  be  very  grateful  to  you,  Caroline, 
if  you'll  try." 

"Try!  There's  no  particular  trying  required.  I'll 
take  her  down  with  me  as  soon  as  ever  I  get  Tom  out 
of  that  hospital.  But  till  I  do  I  shan't  stir  from  Dub- 
lin, so  you  may  make  your  mind  up  to  that,  Toodles." 


CHAPTER  XII 

MRS.  BRYAN  was  confident.  Sir  Ulick,  who 
knew  his  daughter,  although  he  had  never 
been  a  girl  himself,  was  far  from  hopeful.  A 
few  months  earlier  it  might  have  been  possible.  It 
might  with  a  little  tact  have  even  been  easy  to  lure 
Mona  back  into  safe  ways  of  ordinary  respectability. 
She  was  then,  it  is  true,  president  of  the  Cailini  na 
h'Eirinn,  and  pledged  to  the  revival  of  Irish  as  the 
spoken  language  of  the  country.  But  conversation  in 
Irish,  though  stimulating  and  exciting  at  first,  be- 
comes rather  tiresome  when  no  one  is  able  to  advance 
much  beyond  the  most  commonplace  phrases;  and  the 
language  of  the  saints  and  scholars  who  once  made 
Ireland  famous  is  not  a  very  pliant  vehicle  for  the  ex- 
pression of  modern  thought.  Mona,  as  Sir  Ulick 
knew,  was  getting  a  little  tired  of  Irish,  and  French, 
the  only  other  tongue  permissible,  was  not  much  use 
when  no  member  of  the  Cailini  except  herself  could 
talk  it.  Mona  was  also  at  that  time  a  sincere  admirer 
of  minor  Irish  verse,  especially  that  of  Peter  Maillia. 
She  hoped  soon  to  bring  out  a  volume  of  his  poetry 
at  her  own  expense,  a  well  printed  volume,  tastefully 
bound  and  dedicated  to  herself.  But  Peter  Maillia 
was  an  extraordinarily  prolific  poet.  His  lyrics  ap- 
peared by  twos  and  threes  every  week,  tucked  into 
corners   of   all   sorts   of   odd  Irish-Ireland   journals. 

124 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  125 

Large  numbers  which  never  saw  the  light  of  print  were 
handed  to  Mona  in  manuscript.  They  were  all  beauti- 
ful and  inspiring,  but — Mona  began  to  be  conscious  of 
the  fact — one  was  very  like  another. 

Sir  Ulick,  watching  his  daughter  carefully,  was 
aware  of  all  this.  He  hoped  that  the  disease — to  him 
this  literary  patriotism  was  a  disease — would  be  cured 
by  the  workings  of  the  bacillus  of  boredom  bred  in  the 
system  by  the  disease  itself.  Very  likely  he  was  right 
and  Mona  might  have  turned  from  the  culture  of  the 
Gael  without  any  effort  on  his  part.  Unfortunately 
two  things  happened  wdiich  interfered  with  the  natural 
course  of  events.  Mona  conceived  the  idea  that  her 
father  was  quietly  laughing  at  her.  The  sore  made  by 
his  unfortunate  phrase  about  boys  and  girls  out  for  a 
little  excitement,  smarted  and  could  not  be  forgotten. 
She  flung  herself  into  enthusiastic  revolt  against  her 
father's  cynical  tolerance.  Then,  at  the  critical 
moment,  she  tasted  for  the  first  time  the  heady 
wine  of  Irish  politics.  She  listened  to  the  Socialist- 
Republican  gospel  of  Alfred  Patterson  and  became  a 
convert.  The  question  which  troubled  her  father  in 
no  way  worried  her.  She  did  not  ask  and  did  not 
wish  to  know  whether  Patterson  was  a  Chauvinist  dis- 
guised in  the  garments  of  Socialism,  or  a  socialist  who 
paid  lip  service  to  the  gospel  of  patriotism.  To  her  he 
was  a  hero,  a  statesman,  above  all  an  idealist. 

Sir  Ulick,  guessing  all  this,  sighed.  He  realized  the 
strength  of  enthusiasm  in  young  souls  and  felt  very 
little  hope  that  Mona  would  consent  to  go  down  to 
Dunally  for  the  hunting. 


126  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

But  events  worked  for  him  in  a  curious  way.  The 
threat  of  conscription  roused  Ireland  to  a  frenzy  of 
resistance.  Men  and  women  everywhere  denounced 
the  proposal  with  confused  and  confusing  violence. 
Alfred  Patterson  saw  in  it  a  final  blow  struck  at 
human  liberty,  an  attempt  on  the  part  of  the  govern- 
ing classes  to  sacrifice  the  people  on  the  altar  of  their 
selfish  ambition.  Mr.  Bettany,  writing  volubly  article 
after  article  in  all  sorts  of  papers,  declaimed  against 
militarism,  slaughter  and  the  blood  tax  levied  on  the 
country's  life.  The  war,  so  he  said,  was  already  lost 
by  England  and  won  by  Germany.  Were  the  lives  of 
Irishmen  to  be  added  to  those  already  sacrificed? 
Peter  Maillia,  deserting  verse  for  prose,  spoke  and 
wrote  about  the  blank  denial  of  Irish  nationality.  As 
a  volunteer  eager  to  bear  arms  he  was  prepared  to  wel- 
come compulsory  military  service  as  a  right  and  proper 
thing  if  imposed  on  Ireland  by  Irishmen.  Conscrip- 
tion by  England  for  service  in  England's  war  must  be 
resisted  to  the  uttermost.  Eibhlin  O'Murchadha  found 
inspiration  for  resistance  in  religion. 

"They  have  banned  our  faith  for  centuries,"  she 
said.  "  Now  they  hope  to  destroy  it  utterly.  They 
will  drag  Catholic  Ireland  to  the  shambles  of  France 
and  there  slaughter  the  last  remnants  of  the  race  which 
has  ever  been  loyal  to  the  church." 

To  Mona,  feeling  deeply  and  thinking  confusedly, 
all  arguments  were  equally  good.  Bettany's  despon- 
dent pacifism  reinforced  Maillia's  militant  nationalism. 
Eibhlin's  alarmed  and  angry  piety  had  no  quarrel  with 
Patterson's    democratic    humanitarianism.     The  girl 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  127 

was  swept  out  of  herself  by  an  enthusiasm.  She  felt 
that  a  cause  worthy  of  all  enthusiasm  had  shown  it- 
self. She  was  ready  to  do  anything  to  preserve  a  per- 
secuted church,  though  not  the  church  of  her  own 
faith,  to  save  peaceful  men  from  slaughter  in  a  great 
defeat,  to  serve  the  cause  of  freedom,  to  encourage  the 
hero  souls  of  Ireland's  army. 

While  Sir  Ulick  discussed  her  future  with  Mrs. 
Bryan  she  sat  in  her  own  room,  smoking  cigarette  after 
cigarette,  turning  from  one  to  another  of  her  visitors 
with  shining  eyes. 

Mr.  Bettany  was  there,  nervous,  excitable,  giving 
way  now  and  then  to  gusty  fits  of  temper  and  unre- 
strained denunciation  of  the  wickedness  of  a  govern- 
ment which  made  men  fight  against  their  will,  which 
having  chased  him  from  England  was  now  about  to 
pursue  him  to  Ireland.  ^Ir.  Bettany's  high-sounding 
pacifism  seemed  to  have  dropped  off  from  him  though 
he  quoted  Tolstoi  now  and  then.  A  cool-headed 
listener — Sir  Ulick,  for  instance,  had  he  been  present 
— might  have  been  tempted  to  sneer.  !Mr.  Bettany  was 
plainly  angry,  not  because  a  brutal  world  flouted  his 
creed,  but  because  he  himself  might  be  forced  to  wear 
uniform  and  obey  the  orders  of  some  coarse  sergeant. 

Peter  ]\Iaillia  paced  up  and  down  the  room  and 
declaimed  about  the  glories  of  Ireland's  nationhood. 
He  intended  to  fight  desperately,  a  forlorn  and  hope- 
less batde  against  the  might  of  England.  He  pre- 
ferred to  die  on  his  doorstep,  his  body  hacked  with 
bayonet  wounds,  rather  than  fight  for  England  in  a 
war  waged  without  the  consent  of  the  Irish  people. 


128  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

So  he  said,  and  watching  his  excited  gestures  it  was 
impossible  not  to  beHeve  him.  He  only  sat  down  when 
one  of  the  others,  Bettany  generally,  spoke  at  great 
length. 

Eibhlin  O'Murchadha  sat  beside  Mona.  Occa- 
sionally she  took  her  friend's  hand  and  held  it,  finding 
a  strength  in  the  feeling  of  close  companionship. 
When  she  spoke  it  was  about  desecrated  altars,  ruined 
shrines,  and  faith  which  cannot  be  destroyed  by  per- 
secution. 

Alfred  Patterson  sat  by  himself  at  Mona's  writing- 
table.  He  had  before  him  a  bundle  of  papers.  He 
turned  these  over  and  studied  them  while  Bettany 
raged  and  Peter  Maillia  made  speeches.  He  listened 
with  a  thin  smile  to  Eibhlin's  talk  about  religion.  Dur- 
ing the  earlier  part  of  the  conference  he  spoke  only 
now  and  then,  briefly,  stating  facts  with  cold  detach- 
ment. 

It  was  certain,  so  he  said,  that  the  Government  in- 
tended to  force  Irishmen  to  serve  in  the  English  army. 
He  had  his  information  from  a  private  source  which 
was  absolutely  reliable.  As  he  spoke  he  fingered  a 
copy  of  the  memorandum  sent  to  Sir  Ulick  from  Lon- 
don. Eibhlin  had  given  it  to  him.  She  flushed  with 
pride  when  he  referred  to  it. 

It  was  certain — he  said  this  a  litde  later — that  a 
secret  agent  of  the  military  authorities  was  in  daily 
consultation  with  members  of  the  Irish  Government 
about  the  methods  to  be  pursued.  Eibhlin  recognized 
that  here  again  she  had  served  the  cause,  the  church, 
the  nation.    It  was  to  her  that  Tom  Bryan  had  incau- 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  129 

tiously  revealed  the  fact  that  he  was  Deputy  Assistant 
Controller  General  of  the  Military  Secret  Service  in 
Ireland. 

Alfred  Patterson  made  all  his  statements  with  the 
same  calm  assurance.  They  all  rested  on  authority 
unquestionably  reliable,  but  anonymous.  His  knowl- 
edge of  everything  that  the  Government  planned  came 
to  him  by  channels  which  could  not  be  described. 
There  are  men  whose  positiveness  challenges  contra- 
diction every  time  they  speak.  Alfred  Patterson  spoke 
as  positively  as  any  one  ever  did  but  no  one  thought 
of  contradicting  him.  It  was  impossible,  listening  to 
his  calm,  entirely  unemotional  voice,  to  doubt  that  he 
knew.  Others  might  guess.  He,  even  if  he  gave  an 
account  of  the  unuttered  thoughts  of  the  Prime  Min- 
ister, was  certain. 

Mona  was  hostess.  At  the  beginning  of  the  confer- 
ence she  gave  each  of  her  guests  a  cup  of  coffee.  Then 
she  set  the  coffee  pot  on  the  hearth  in  front  of  the 
fire.  From  time  to  time  she  rose  anad  refilled  such 
cups  as  were  empty.  It  was  black  coffee.  IMen  and 
women  engaged  in  high  politics  ought  to  drink  black 
coffee.  Eibhlin  did  not  like  it.  Her  cup  stood  un- 
tasted.  Peter  Maillia  gulped  a  mouthful  or  two  after 
each  of  his  speeches.  There  was  a  decanter  of  brandy 
on  the  side  table.  Bettany  alone  mixed  brandy  with 
his  coffee.  After  filling  Bettany's  cup  for  the  fourth 
time,  Mona  sat  on  the  floor.  Her  draperies  hung 
around  her  in  shining  folds.  A  cigarette,  the  eighth 
she  had  lighted,  drooped  from  the  corner  of  her  mouth. 
She  looked,  and  felt,  very  picturesque. 


130  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

Alfred  Patterson  spoke  deliberately. 

"  The  attitude  of  the  Church  towards  the  movement 
is  the  important  thing.  Hitherto  the  Church  has  been 
neutral.  It  does  not  want  to  bless  us.  It  is  afraid 
to  curse  us/' 

"  The  Church,"  Eibhlin  spoke  with  full  assurance, 
"  will  always  be  true  to  the  Irish  people.  The  cause 
of  Ireland  and  the  cause  of  the  Church  are  one.'* 

Alfred  Patterson  looked  at  her  with  expressionless 
eyes.    Very  slowly  a  half-smile  appeared  on  his  lips. 

Mr.  Bettany  spoke. 

"  Does  the  Church  matter?  "  he  asked. 

Then  he  went  on  to  speak  at  some  length  about  the 
two  "  Internationals,"  the  Red  International  and  the 
Black  International.  What  he  said  sounded  like  a 
quotation  from  some  Continental  Socialist  journal. 
Alfred  Patterson  listened  quietly  until  he  had  finished. 

"  This  time,"  he  said,  "  the  Church  must  not  only 
back  us.     It  must  lead,  or  appear  to  lead.     Otherwise 

"    He  shrugged  his  shoulders.     ''  The  people  are 

in  earnest  about  this  conscription  question.  The 
Church  is  not  so  foolish  as  to  miss  the  chance  of  re- 
gaining its  half  lost  position.  It  will  place  itself  at 
the  head  of  the  strongest  popular  movement  of  our 
time,  because  it  is  too  strong  to  be  opposed  and  cannot 
be  side-tracked." 

He  went  on  to  describe  exactly  what  had  taken  place 
a  few  days  before  at  a  meeting  of  bishops  in  May- 
nooth.  He  knew  the  arguments  used  and  the  deci- 
sions arrived  at.  It  was  as  if  he  had  been  present,  a 
note-book  in  his  hand,  while  the  prelates  sat  round 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  131 

their  tabic.  No  one  doubted  that  he  really  knew.  No 
one  thought  of  asking  how  he  came  by  his  knowledge. 

"  This  is  of  immense  importance,"  he  said,  "  for  it 
determines  our  immediate  action." 

"  We  must  put  our  case  before  the  Labour  Party 
in  England,"  said  Bettany.  "  We  must  flood  their 
papers  with  articles.  We  must  raise  such  an  agitation 
that  the  Government  will  be  shaken  and  afraid  to 
go  on." 

Alfred  Patterson  listened.  He  seemed  prepared  to 
go  on  listening,  for  he  sat  silent  for  some  moments 
after  Bettany  ceased  to  speak.  When  he  did  speak  he 
ignored  Bettany's  advice  altogether. 

"  We  have  to  deal  now,"  he  said,  ''  with  soldiers, 
not  politicians.  The  decision  has  been  made.  The 
military  will  try  to  carry  it  out." 

"  They  may  take  our  dead  bodies,"  said  Maillia. 
"  That's  all  they'll  get." 

Again  Patterson  waited.  These  short  silences  be- 
fore his  speeches  emphasized  the  importance  of  what 
he  said.  He  liked  to  feel  that  his  were  mighty  w^ords 
of  wisdom  sounding  clear  above  the  babblings  and 
ragings  of  lesser  men. 

"  I  have  information,"  he  said,  "  detailed  and  accu- 
rate information,  of  v/hat  the  military  intend  to  do. 
I  need  not  tell  you  how  I  come  by  my  knowledge.  It 
is  enough  that  I  know." 

Eibhlin  felt  a  twinge  of  jealousy  and  envy.  It  was 
not  from  her  that  Alfred  Patterson  had  got  his  infor- 
mation. She  had  tried  to  learn  the  plans  of  the  mili- 
tary, sacrificing  her  self-respect  by  lunching  with  Tom 


132     -  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

Bryan.  She  had  listened  to  his  foolish  compliments 
and  empty  talk.  But  he  had  been  too  wily  for  her. 
She  had  not  induced  him  to  reveal  any  of  the  plans, 
which,  as  a  member  of  the  Irish  Military  Secret  Ser- 
vice, he  certainly  knew. 

"  Either  on  Friday  week,  or  the  following  Monday 

"  said  Alfred  Patterson.     "  I  have  not  been  able 

to  learn  for  certain  which  day.  Perhaps  the  day  has 
not  yet  been  definitely  fixed — at  noon  or  a  little  later 
the  building  of  the  National  University  will  be  sur- 
rounded by  a  strong  force  of  soldiers.  All  doors  and 
gates  will  be  commanded  by  machine  guns.  The  stu- 
dents assembled  in  their  various  classrooms  will  be 
seized " 

"  Killed,"  said  Peter  Maillia.    *'  We  shall  die  there." 

"And  led  away,"  said  Alfred  Patterson.  "A 
special  steamer  will  be  waiting.  The  prisoners  will  be 
taken  to  England.  They  will  be  scattered,  singly,  or 
in  twos  and  threes,  among  the  various  training  camps. 
In  this  way  the  intellectual  flower  of  our  young  man- 
hood will  be  swept  away  from  us.  Afterwards  it  will 
not  be  difficult  to  deal  with  what  is  left.  That  is 
the  plan." 

"  Devilishly  cunning,"  said  Bettany. 

"We  shall  fight,"  said  Maillia,  "We  shall  go 
armed  and  ready." 

"  This  morning,"  said  Alfred  Patterson,  "  the  plan 
was  known  only  to  the  Commander-in-Chief  and  two 
of  his  most  trusted  agents.  This  evening,"  he  smiled 
faintly,  "  I  learned  the  secret.     Now  you  know  it." 

His  four  listeners  sat  silent.     The  simple  audacity 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  133 

of  the  plan  amazed  them.  It  would  have  amazed  Sir 
Ulick,  at  that  moment  saying  good  night  to  his  sister, 
if  he  had  heard  it.  It  would  also  have  very  much 
amazed  the  Commander-in-Chief.  No  one  would  have 
been  more  astonished  than  Tom  Bryan,  if  any  one 
had  told  him  that  he  was  an  arch  conspirator  in  such 
a  plot. 

"But,"  said  Alfred  Patterson,  "we  can  spoil  the 
coup.  The  young  men,  the  educated  young  men  of 
Ireland  will  not  be  found  on  Friday  week  herded  to- 
gether like  sheep  in  a  pen.  They  will  be  scattered  all 
over  Ireland  in  a  hundred  different  tow^ns  and  villages, 
so  that  each  single  individual  must  be  hunted  down 
separately.  All  work,  all  classes  in  the  College  must 
be  stopped.  All  the  hostels  where  the  students  live 
must  be  closed.     The  men  must  go  home." 

Mona  clapped  her  hands.  The  simplicity  and  effec- 
tiveness of  this  counter  plan  appealed  to  her.  She 
was  filled  with  delight  at  the  thought  of  the  fury  of 
the  baffled  general  when  he  found  that  he  had  threat- 
ened an  empty  building  with  machine  guns. 

Mr.  Bettany  was  less  well  pleased.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  the  military  authorities,  balked  of  their  prey, 
would  be  very  likely  to  seek  other  victims  in  Dublin 
itself.  They  might  even,  he  rather  wondered  that  the 
idea  had  not  occurred  to  them  before,  attempt  to  lay 
hands  on  the  Englishmen,  who,  for  conscience'  sake, 
had  fled  from  England  to  find  refuge  in  Ireland. 

Peter  Maillia  was  a  litde  doubtful. 

"But "  he  said,   "but — can  we  go  home?     I 

mean Take  my  case  now.     I  don't  think  Father 


134  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

Jeffers  will  allow  us — it's  three  weeks  before  the  end 
of  the  term." 

Father  Jeffers  was  the  Head  of  the  hostel  in  which 
Peter  Maillia  lived,  secure  from  the  temptations  of 
a  great  city.  And  Father  Jefifers  was  a  strict  disci- 
plinarian. It  is  all  very  well  to  take  sw^ord  and  gun 
in  hand  to  resist  the  might  of  England;  but  to  disobey 
Father  Jeffers ! 

'*  That  is  the  point  I  made  first,"  said  Alfred  Patter- 
son. *^  In  this  matter  the  Church  cannot  oppose  us. 
It  must  lead  us.  You  will  not  merely  be  allowed  to 
go  home,  Maillia.    You  will  be  sent  home." 

'*  Priests  and  people  together,"  said  Eibhlin  ecstatic- 
ally.   "  Priests  and  people." 

"  This  way  of  meeting  the  enemy,"  said  Alfred  Pat- 
terson, "  will  have  a  further  advantage.  Every  one 
of  our  young  men  will  go  as  an  organizer  to  his  own 
district.  Clubs  must  be  formed.  The  spirit  of  the 
volunteers  must  be  aroused.  There  must  be  drilling, 
discipline  and  organized  unity  in  every  corner  of  the 
country.  Ireland  must  meet  the  peril  which  threatens 
her  as  one  man.  You,  for  instance,  Maillia,  when 
you  go  home  to " 

He  hesitated,  uncertain  where  Maillia  lived. 

"Dunally,"  said  Peter  Maillia. 

Mona  arose  to  her  feet. 

"  I  can  help  too,"  she  said.  "  I  can  easily  go  to 
Dunally  without  rousing  any  suspicion  or  having  any 
questions  asked  about  why  I  am  going  there.  Peter 
and  I  will  organize  the  whole  district." 

"  Father  Roche  will  help  you,"  said  Eibhlin.     *'  He 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  135 

is  the  curate  of  the  parish,  and  he  is  a  true  Irishman." 

Mona  fixed  moist  appealing  eyes  on  Alfred  Patter- 
son. She  sought  his  permission,  his  approval  of  her 
crusade. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Mr.  Bettany,  "  I  could  help  you  a 
little.    I  might  go  to  Dunally  and  take  rooms  there." 

He  did  not  know  where  Dunally  was;  but  it  seemed 
to  him  likely  to  be  remote.  It  was  not,  at  all  events, 
the  sort  of  place  in  which  the  police  would  be  likely 
to  look  for  a  fugitive  who  had  evaded  military  service. 
And  there  might  be  good  "  copy  "  for  a  journalist  in 
a  place  like  Dunally.  He  had  almost  exhausted  Dublin 
as  a  subject  for  impressionist  sketches.  It  was  time 
he  saw  something  of  Ireland  beyond  the  pale. 

"  I  wish  I  could  go  too,"  said  Eibhlin,  **  to  Dunally, 
or  somewhere.     There  is  great  work  to  be  done." 

Alfred  Patterson  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"  You  are  wanted  here,"  he  said,  ''at  headquarters. 
It  is  most  necessary  for  us  to  know  all  that  is  going  on 
in  the  enemy's  camp." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MRS.  BRYAN  was  one  of  those  fortunate  people 
who  are  at  their  brightest  and  best  in  the 
morning.  Only  those  who  live  habitually  in 
the  open  air  are  cheerful  and  energetic  at  breakfast 
time.  They  pay  for  their  early  good  temper,  by  being 
very  sleepy  after  dinner.  But  on  the  whole  the  balance 
of  advantage  is  on  their  side.  They  are  never  gloomy, 
seldom  despondent.  Sir  Ulick,  who  sat  much  in  an 
office,  was  always  hopeless  about  things  until  after 
luncheon. 

Mrs.  Bryan  looked  cheerfully  across  the  breakfast 
table  at  her  niece,  who  was  pouring  out  tea. 

'*  Mona,"  she  said,  "  are  you  sure  that's  my  teapot? 
Don't  fill  my  cup  out  of  the  wrong  one.  I  simply 
can't  stand  that  smoky  slop  which  you  and  your  father 
drink.    It's  not  tea  at  all. 

Sir  Ulick  and  Mona  drank  China  tea  and  drank 
it  very  weak.  In  the  fourth  year  of  the  war  it  was 
not  very  easy  to  get  China  tea,  but  Sir  Ulick  had 
a  theory  that  it  was  good  for  his  digestion.  He  se- 
cured a  doctor's  certificate  to  that  effect,  and  he  was 
on  good  terms  with  his  grocer.  Mrs.  Bryan  liked 
Indian  tea,  black  and  strong,  with  thick  cream  and 
two  lumps  of  sugar  in  it.  A  special  pot  of  her  tea 
was  brewed  at  breakfast. 

"  I  suppose  I  oughtn't  to  have  two  lumps  of  sugar," 

136 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  137 

said  Mrs.  Bryan,  "  and  I  won't  if  it  makes  you  fed 
unhappy,  Toodles.  I  know  you  want  to  win  the  war, 
and  if  you've  got  the  idea  that  giving  up  sugar  helps 
— silly  idea,  of  course,  and  down  in  Dunally  I  use  as 
much  sugar  as  I  want.  There's  plenty  there.  All 
Fve  got  to  do  is  to  tell  old  Maillia  and  he  sends  me 
up  a  stone  any  day  in  the  week.  When  you  come 
down  to  stay  with  me,  Mona,  I'll  teach  you  to  drink 
decent  tea.  You  won't  know  yourself  in  the  morning 
after  breakfast  with  a  couple  of  cups  of  good  tea  inside 
you,  the  sort  of  tea  that  leaves  a  brown  ring  on  the 
rim  of  the  cup." 

Sir  Ulick  looked  up  from  his  plate  with  a  gentle 
smile.  Mrs.  Br>'an  was  evidently  preparing  the  way 
for  her  invitation  to  Mona.  It  amused  him,  even  at 
breakfast  time,  to  hear  her  doing  it. 

"  You're  coming  back  to  Dunally  with  me,  Mona,'* 
Mrs.  Bryan  went  on.  "  We'll  go  as  soon  as  we  can 
get  Tom  away.  Your  father  is  buying  a  very  nice 
little  mare  for  you.    She's  quite  up  to  your  weight." 

She  looked  her  niece  over  thoughtfully  as  she  spoke 
as  if  calculating  the  girl's  weight. 

'*  The  mare  I  was  speaking  about  last  night  will  be 
just  the  thing,  Toodles.     She'll  carry  Mona  well." 

Sir  Ulick  waited  for  an  explosion,  an  indignant 
outburst  from  his  daughter.  Mona  had  always  been  a 
girl  of  independent  mind,  who  hated  having  plans 
made  for  her,  and  here  was  her  future  mapped  out, 
even  a  horse  bought  for  her,  without  an  attempt  to 
consult  her  wishes. 

Mrs.  Bryan  went  on,  quite  unperturbed. 


138  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

"We'll  have  you  out  with  the  hounds  regularly, 
INIona,"  she  said.  "  If  Tom  can  take  a  grip  on  the 
side  of  a  horse  with  that  game  leg  of  his  we'll  have 
him  out  too.  I  don't  suppose  he  can  mount,  but  we'll 
hoist  him  into  the  saddle  somehow." 

Sir  Ulick  still  waited,  curious  to  see  what  form  his 
daughter's  refusal  would  take.  He  imagined  it  curt, 
perhaps  indignant.  To  his  amazement  Alona  spoke 
quite  gently,  in  the  manner  of  a  good  and  submissive 
girl  who  accepts  a  favour  from  a  kind  aunt. 

**  Thank  you.  Aunt  Caroline,"  she  said,  "  I  should 
like  to  go  to  Dunally  very  much." 

Sir  Ulick  drew  a  sharp  breath  of  surprise.  Mona 
was  actually  blushing,  as  if  with  shyness  and  pleasure. 

"  Of  course  you'd  like  to  get  some  hunting,"  said 
Mrs.  Bryan,  "  any  girl  would." 

She  glanced  triumphantly  at  Sir  Ulick.  He  was 
puzzled  and  slightly  troubled.  He  did  not  believe  that 
Mona  wanted  to  go  to  Dunally  to  hunt.  He  wondered 
why  she  was  going.  Mona,  conscious  of  her  height- 
ened colour,  felt  keenly  excited.  Her  way  was  being 
made  unexpectedly  easy  for  her.  She  would  be  able 
to  do  all  sorts  of  work  for  the  cause  of  Ireland  in 
Dunally.  She  would  help  to  organize  Ireland  against 
conscription. 

"  It's  very  kind  of  you  to  ask  me,  Aunt  Caroline," 
she  said. 

Mrs.  Bryan,  talking  with  cheerful  garrulity,  seemed 
bent  on  smoothing  every  possible  obstacle  out  of 
Mona's  way. 

"  No  kindness  about  it,"  she  said.    "  You'll  be  most 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  139 

useful  to  me.  Oh,  I  don't  mean  settling  flowers  and 
giving  out  the  jam.  I  could  get  dozens  of  girls  to 
do  that  for  me  in  return  for  a  mount  once  a  week. 
But  it  isn't  every  girl  who's  an  out  and  out  Sinn  Feiner 
like  you,  Mona.  That's  where  you'll  be  useful.  Our 
local  blackguards  have  had  it  in  for  me  ever  since  I 
wouldn't  let  them  dig  up  my  paddock  for  potatoes. 
And  I  shouldn't  wonder  a  bit  if  they  tried  to  stop  the 
hunting.  I  can  count  on  old  Maillia,  of  course.  He'll 
talk  sense  into  them  all  he  can.  He's  oftener  drunk 
than  sober,  but  he  know^s  which  side  his  bread's 
buttered.  He  makes  a  deal  more  out  of  me  one  way 
or  another  than  ever  he  w\\\  out  of  a  lot  of  beggarly 
rebels.  Only  I've  a  sort  of  idea  that  they're  getting 
beyond  him  in  our  parts.  But  w^hen  I  have  you, 
Mona " 

*'  But  I'm  not  a  Sinn  Feiner,  aunt.  At  least  not 
exactly." 

"  You  needn't  apologize  for  being  a  Sinn  Feiner," 
said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  I've  often  thought  of  joining  them 
myself.  I  would  too  if  they  didn't  do  such  annoying^ 
things.  I  can't  see  why  they  should  insist  on  getting 
my  land  from  me,  and  of  course  if  they  stop  the  hunt- 
ing that  settles  them  so  far  as  I'm  concerned." 

"  1  don't  think  Sinn  Feiners  particularly  want  to 
stop  hunting.  Their  principles — I  mean  their  ideas 
— their  policy  hasn't  anything  to  do  with  hunting.'* 

"An  independent  Irish  Republic,"  said  Sir  Ulick. 
"  That's  it,  isn't  it,  Mona?    Stop  me  if  I'm  exaggerat- 


ing." 


I  don't  see  any  objection  to  that,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan. 


I40  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

"The  country  couldn't  possibly  be  worse  governed 
than  it  is  at  present.    If  they'll  only  stick  to  a  republic 

and  not  get  interfering  with  the  hunting That's 

what  you'll  have  to  see  to,  Mona.  You're  a  president 
or  something,  aren't  you?  " 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "  Don't  tell  me  that 
they've  elected  you  president.  I'm  a  broad-minded 
man  and  I  hope  tolerant,  but  it  would  be  a  shock  to 
me  if  my  daughter " 

Mona  was  uncomfortably  suspicious  of  her  father. 
She  could  not  feel  sure  whether  he  was  genuinely 
alarmed  or  was  simply  laughing  at  her,  at  her  and 
Sinn  Fein  and  the  cause  of  Ireland  and  all  sorts  of 
other  sacred  things.     She  flushed  hotly. 

"Of  course  I'm  not  President  of  Sinn  Fein,"  she 
said. 

"  Anyhow,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan,  "  you're  a  most  im- 
portant person.  Don't  contradict  me  now,  Mona. 
You  must  be.  A  set  of  illiterate  corner  boys.  That's 
what  they  are,  down  in  Dunally  anyhow.  And  when 
those  sort  of  people  get  a  lady  among  them  they're  so 
pleased  that  they'll  do  anything  she  tells  them." 

Mona  opened  her  mouth  to  protest  and  gave  a  gasp 
of  sheer  astonishment.  She  thought  of  Alfred  Patter- 
son, with  his  dominating  will,  his  contempt  for  rank, 
high  birth  and  riches,  his  wide  knowledge  of  European 
politics,  his  confident  mastery  of  economic  science. 
She  wanted  to  tell  her  aunt  what  sort  of  man  Alfred 
Patterson  was,  how  grotesque  it  was  to  speak  of  him 
as  an  illiterate  corner  boy.  She  glanced  quickly  at 
her  father  before  she  spoke.     He  must  know  that 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  141 

Alfred  Patterson  was  a  great  intellectual  force.  Sir 
Ulick's  face  was  grave,  his  lips  closed;  but  in  his  eyes 
Mona  detected  a  flicker  of  amusement. 

"  The  last  letter  I  had  before  I  left  home,"  said 
Mrs.  Bryan,  "  was  from  a  Sinn  Fein  secretary.  I 
found  three  spelling  mistakes  in  it;  and  I  needn't  tell 
you,  Toodles,  that  if  I  found  three  there  were  probably 
at  least  three  more.  I  never  could  spell  myself,  much 
less  correct  other  people.  That's  why  I  call  your 
friends  an  illiterate  lot,  Mona." 

Mona  felt  that  she  could  trust  her  temper  no  more. 
The  flicker  of  amusement  in  her  father's  eyes  had 
spread  over  his  face  and  become  a  smile  on  his  lips. 
She  rose  from  her  place  at  the  table. 

"  Don't  run  away  now,  Mona,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan. 
"  Sit  down  and  finish  your  breakfast.  You've  eaten 
nothing  yet,  nothing  to  call  breakfast,  and  a  great, 
healthy  lump  of  a  girl  like  you  ought  to  begin  the  day 
with  a  solid  meal.  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  your  feelings 
by  calling  your  friends  illiterate  corner  boys." 

It  was  not  that  phrase  which  had  made  Mona  angry. 
To  be  called  illiterate  by  Mrs.  Bryan  who  never  read 
a  book  and  hardly  ever  glanced  at  a  newspaper  was, 
in  fact,  rather  a  compliment. 

"  I  don't  mind  your  saying  that,  Aunt  Caroline, 
only " 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan,  "  sit  down  and  eat 
your  breakfast.  If  you  want  to  have  young  Maillia 
to  tea  with  you  when  you  come  to  Dunally  you  can. 
I  won't  say  a  word,  though  I  regard  that  boy  as  more 
than  half  an  idiot.     He  and  his  poetry!     I'd  rather 


142  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

have  the  drunken  father  any  day;  though  I  won't 
have  him  asked  to  dinner,  remember  that.  Irish  re- 
pubhc  or  no  Irish  republic,  I  draw  the  line  at  sitting 
down  to  dinner  with  old  Maillia.  But  you  can  have 
the  son  to  tea  so  long  as  you  don't  expect  me  to  listen 
to  his  poetry.  Old  Maillia  does  know  a  horse  when 
he  sees  one.  Drunk  or  sober  I'd  rather  have  his 
opinion  on  a  two-year-old  than  any  man's  I  know. 
But  that  son  of  his  wouldn't  know^  the  difference  be- 
tween a  jennet  and  a  thoroughbred." 

Mona,  who  really  had  a  healthy  appetite  though  she 
drank  weak  China  tea,  sat  down  again.  Her  father 
went  to  the  sideboard  and  fetched  a  slice  of  fried  fish 
for  her.  Mrs.  Bryan  talked  on.  She  was  confident 
that  she  could  rescue  Tom  from  his  hospital  in  the 
course  of  the  next  couple  of  days.  She  could  then 
go  back  to  Dunally,  to  her  beloved  horses,  taking  Mona 
and  Tom  with  her.  She  intended  to  see  General  Nolan 
as  soon  as  possible. 

"  Poor  Johnny  Nolan  has  behaved  pretty  well  about 
Tom,"  she  said.  "  A  great  deal  better  than  you  have 
about  the  petrol,  Toodles.  Not  that  I  care  about  the 
petrol  now  that  Mona  is  to  be  with  me  in  Dunally. 
I  could  always  get  as  much  as  I  wanted.  All  I  ob- 
jected to  was  being  obliged  to  keep  up  a  sort  of  secret 
understanding  with  an  old  reprobate  like  Maillia,  the 
two  of  us  hand  in  glove,  like  criminals  breaking  the 
law.  You  can  do  all  that,  Mona,  while  you're  with 
me.  You  must  be  accustomed  to  being  a  criminal, 
and  you  won't  mind." 

Mona  saw  her  opportunity  for  asserting  a  favourite 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  I43 

Sinn  Fein  principle  and  setting  her  own  position  clear- 
ly before  her  aunt  and  father. 

"  The  men  whom  you  and  father  call  criminals," 
she  said,  "  are  really  patriots.  English  law  has  no 
moral  force  in  this  country.  It  has  no  claim  on  our 
loyalty.    We  feel  ourselves  entirely  justified  in  break- 


ing It. 


"  So  do  I,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  In  fact,  I  go  further 
than  you  do,  Mona.  I  feel  quite  justified  in  breaking 
any  law,  English,  Irish  or  American,  which  strikes 
me  as  silly.  And  most  laws  are  absolutely  idiotic. 
Even  you  must  admit  that,  Toodles.  I  don't  mind 
breaking  laws  in  the  least.  What  I  do  object  to  is 
associating  with  old  Maillia.  Now  you  like  people  of 
that  sort,  Mona.  You  wouldn't  be  a  Sinn  Feiner  if 
you  didn't.  I  don't  blame  you  in  the  least.  I  don't 
see  how  you  ever  could  get  an  Irish  republic  if  you 
only  associated  with  respectable  people  like  your  father. 
You  can't  expect  men  like  him  to  help  you.  They've 
all  got  jobs  under  the  present  Government  and  they 
naturally  want  to  keep  it  going.  That's  about  it,  isn't 
it,  Toodles?" 

''  Exactly,  Caroline,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  ''  You  put  the 
matter  in  a  nutshell.  Old  Maillia  wants  a  revolution 
because  he  thinks  he'll  get  more  whisky  to  drink.  I 
hate  the  thought  of  one  because  I'm  sure  I'd  get  less 
port." 

"  My  own  impression,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan,  "  is  that 
there'll  be  revolution,  two  revolutions,  one  here  and 
one  in  England,  if  you  don't  let  the  people  get  some- 
thing decent  to  drink.     Maillia  says  the  whisky  nowa- 


144  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

days  is  watered  to  such  an  extent  that  a  school-girl 
could  drink  a  bucketful  without  tasting  it.  You  can't 
expect  people  to  be  quiet  and  contented  when  it's  im- 
possible to  get  a  proper  drink  or  enough  to  smoke. 
Look  at  Russia.  The  first  thing  they  did  after  the 
war  started  was  to  cut  off  the  people's  drink.  And 
what  happened?  A  revolution  of  the  most  violent 
kind.  Now  if  I  was  a  politician  and  set  to  govern 
Ireland,  I'd " 

"  Yes?  "  said  Sir  Ulick,  "do  tell  me  what  you'd  do. 
People  are  for  ever  criticizing  me,  but  when  I  ask 
them  what  they'd  do  themselves  they  haven't  a  word 
to  say." 

"  If  I  was  governor  of  Ireland,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan, 
"  I'd  take  the  duty  off  whisky  and  tobacco.  I'd  see 
that  there  was  as  much  of  both  as  the  people  wanted. 
There'd  be  no  more  talk  about  Home  Rule  or  rebellion 
then.  You'd  have  a  happy,  peaceful  and  contented 
country." 

"  It's  quite  worth  trying,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "  There 
might  be  a  little  drunkenness  just  at  first,  but " 

"Perhaps  you  don't  know,"  said  Mona,  "that 
nearly  every  leading  Sinn  Feiner  and  all  the  heads  of 
the  Gaelic  League  are  strict  teetotallers.  I'm  going 
to  be  a  teetotaller  myself." 

"  There  you  are,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  That's  just 
my  point.  If  they  weren't  teetotallers  they'd  have 
more  sense  than  to  go  gallivanting  round  after  repub- 
lics and  dead  languages.  When  men  are  cut  off  from 
the  drink  they're  accustomed  to  and  ought  to  have  they 
always  take  to  wild  fads  of  one  sort  or  another.    If 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  i45 

it  isn't  republics  it's  Christian  Science,  or  poetry,  like 
young  Maillia,  Mona.  Now  don't  think  I  want  to 
encourage  drunkenness,  Toodles,  I  don't.  I'd  sack 
any  boy  in  my  stable  to-morrow  if  I  caught  him  even 
half  drunk.  All  I  say  is  that  you  can't  have  a  perfect 
world— it  wouldn't  be  really  perfect  even  under  an 
Irish  Republic,  Mona — and  when  it  comes  to  a  choice 
of  evils  I  prefer  a  little  drunkenness,  so  long  as  the 
man  isn't  in  charge  of  a  horse.  It  does  a  good  deal 
less  harm  in  the  world  than  politics  and  poetry  and 
revolutions.  Nobody  ever  heard  of  a  man  who  got 
moderately  drunk  once  a  week  or  so  wanting  to  do 
anything  really  mischievous,  stopping  the  hunting,  for 

instance.     The  people  who  do  things  like  that " 

''  I  can  imagine  an  election  won  on  the  cry  of  '  Free 
drinks  for  Free  people,'  "  said  Sir  Ulick,  "  and  I  think, 
I  really  do  think,  Caroline,  that  the  job  of  keeping 
Ireland  quiet  would  be  easier  afterwards." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  great  gates  of  Athowen  House  hung  loose 
from  their  tall  stone  piers.  The  paint  on  the 
wrought  iron  work  had  cracked  in  places  and 
peeled  off.  Broad  patches  of  rust  showed  brown.  The 
joints  between  the  blocks  of  grey  limestone  of  which 
the  piers  were  built  gaped  where  the  mortar  had  been 
forced  out  by  the  rain  and  frosts  of  many  years.  Long 
stemmed,  stiff  grasses  and  stone  crops  with  tiny  leaves 
appeared  in  cracks  between  the  limestone  blocks  and 
under  the  coping  stones.  Greyish  green  lichens  spread 
over  the  stones  themselves.  Inside  the  gates  a  long 
avenue  wound  along  the  shore  of  a  dark  lake,  and 
among  groups  of  gloomy  firs.  The  avenue  was  deeply 
rutted  where  wheels  ran.  Soft  spots  on  the  surface 
had  become  pits  and  were  filled  with  water.  From 
the  windows  of  the  gate  lodge  a  light  glowed.  It  was 
no  more  than  half -past  three  o'clock;  but  a  December 
afternoon  darkens  early  among  trees  and  under  a  low, 
watery  Irish  sky. 

Outside  the  gates  the  road  ran  straight  for  a  mile 
either  way  along  the  wall  of  the  demesne.  It  ran 
under  the  branches  of  great  trees.  It  was  deep  with 
soft  mud.  Leaves  had  fallen  all  along  the  road.  They 
were  trodden,  crushed,  soaked.  Their  flesh,  torn  from 
its  fibre,  mingled  with  the  debris  of  the  road  metal 
and  formed  the  thick  sticky  mud.     The  air,  in  spite 

146 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  147 

of  the  wind  which  swept  through  the  leafless  branches, 
was  heavy  with  a  scent  of  decay. 

Autumn,  Evening,  Ireland.  And  this  spot  was  full 
of  memories  of  an  aristocracy,  once  proud  and  strong 
like  the  gates  of  its  mansions,  whose  privileges  and 
wealth  and  power  are  now  like  the  leaves  on  the  roads 
beside  the  demesne  walls,  torn  by  storms,  fallen, 
trampled,  in  decay. 

Outside  the  gates  stood  a  motor  car,  its  wheels  deep 
in  the  mud,  its  engine  silent.  Beside  it  in  worn 
breeches  and  a  patched  coat,  an  old  groom  sat  on  a 
horse.  At  the  steering  wheel  of  the  car  was  Tom 
Bryan.  He  wore  a  heavy  frieze  coat,  its  first  grey 
faded  to  a  quiet  green.  He  had  wrapped  a  rug  round 
his  legs,  not  for  the  sake  of  warmth,  for  the  evening 
was  soft  and  mild,  but  as  a  protection  against  the 
prevailing  damp. 

"  I'm  thinking,"  said  the  groom,  "  that  there's  some 
one  coming  along  the  road  now,  and  it'll  likely  be  the 
mistress." 

Tom  sat  upright,  peered  and  listened.  Neither  his 
eyes  nor  his  ears  were  as  sharp  as  the  groom's.  He 
found  no  sign  of  any  one  coming. 

"  It's  time  for  her,"  said  the  groom.  "  Without  the 
fox  led  them  beyond  the  beyonds  entirely  she  should 
be  here  by  now." 

"  There's  somebody  coming,"  said  Tom.  "  I  hear 
the  horse." 

"  It's  not  the  mistress,"  said  the  groom.  "  It's  the 
old  lord,  so  it  is.  Wouldn't  I  know  that  grey  mare  of 
his  a  mile  away?  " 


148  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

Lord  Athowen,  riding  very  slowly,  came  towards 
the  gate.  He  was  a  tall,  lean  man,  with  a  face  deeply 
lined  and  pale.  He  sat  stiffly  in  his  saddle,  but  his 
head  was  bent  forward  and  his  chin  fell  almost  to  his 
chest.  The  grey  mare,  a  tall  powerful  animal,  was 
old  too.  But  years  had  not  told  on  her  as  on  her 
master.  Lord  Athowen,  seen  in  the  evening  light, 
looked  very  frail  and  weary. 

He  caught  sight  of  Tom  in  the  motor  car  and  the 
groom  beside  the  car.  At  once  a  change  came  over 
him.  He  shook  himself  slightly,  squared  his  shoulders 
and  raised  his  head.  The  mare  quickened  her  pace. 
The  pair  approached  the  motor  gallandy  enough. 
There  was  a  pleasant  gleam  in  the  old  man's  eyes 
when  he  waved  his  hand  to  Tom. 

"  That  you,  Tom?  "  he  said.  "  Sorry  you  weren't 
out  with  us.  We  had  a  fine  run,  a  fine  run.  Found  in 
the  gorse   on   Macklin's   hill.     A  great    fox.     You 

should  have  been  with  us.    But  your  leg I  know. 

You'd  have  been  there  only  for  your  leg." 

"  Hope  to  be  with  you  soon,"  said  Tom.  "  The 
leg's  mending.  I  believe  I  could  sit  on  a  horse  now 
if  I  was  once  in  the  saddle." 

"  That's  right,"  said  Lord  Athowen.  "  We've  kept 
the  hunt  going,  you  know,  we  old  ones.  Not  that  I 
ought  to  call  your  mother  old.  She's  a  wonderful 
woman,  Tom.  Sat  her  horse  to-day  like  a  girl  of 
twenty.  Doesn't  look  a  day  more  than  that  when  she's 
riding.  Only  for  her  I  couldn't  have  kept  up  the 
hounds.     I'm  not  what  I  was.     Seventy  years,  Tom. 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  149 

I'm  pushing  seventy-one  very  hard  this  minute.  It 
begins  to  tell  on  a  man." 

"  Hope  ril  be  able  to  do  as  much  when  I'm  sixty,'* 
said  Tom. 

The  old  man  smiled. 

**  Must  keep  going,"  he  said.  **  Wouldn't  do  if  you 
boys  came  home  and  found  we'd  let  the  hunting  drop. 
It  isn't  very  much  we  can  do;  just  pay  the  damned 
taxes  and  keep  up  the  hunting.  I'd  a  letter  from 
Geoffrey  yesterday." 

"  He's  up  in  the  salient,  isn't  he?"  said  Tom. 

"  There  or  thereabouts.  Doesn't  say,  of  course. 
He  asked  about  the  hunting.  Wouldn't  do  if  he  came 
home  and  found  his  old  dad  sitting  over  the  fire  and 
no  hounds  in  the  county.  Wouldn't  do  at  all.  John," 
he  turned  to  the  groom.  "  Open  the  gate  for  me. 
Tom,  come  up  to  the  house  and  have  a  drink.  A  drink 
won't  hurt  your  leg." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Tom,  "  but  I  must  be  here  to  meet 
the  mater.  She  may  come  any  minute  now  and  we've 
got  fifteen  miles  to  go.  She'll  want  to  be  getting 
home." 

The  groom  crossed  the  road  and  began  to  fumble 
with  the  fastenings  of  the  gate.  Neither  bolts,  locks 
nor  latches  were  in  good  order  on  the  gates  of  x\tho- 
wen  demesne.  A  man  unaccustomed  to  their  peculiari- 
ties generally  took  some  time  to  fasten  or  unfasten 
them.  Lord  Athowen  moved  over  towards  the  motor 
and  stooped. 

''Look  after  that  pretty  cousin  of  yours,  Tom,"  he 


^i5o  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

said.  "  The  country's  in  a  queer  state  and  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  we  had  trouble  before  the  winter's  out.  You 
don't  mind  my  dropping  you  a  hint,  do  you?  I  spoke 
to  your  mother  to-day.  I'm  not  an  old  Puritan,  Tom. 
You  know  that.  A  pretty  girl  ought  to  have  her  fling 
and  I'm  the  last  man  to  be  down  on  her  because  she 
chooses  to  take  it.     But  hang  it  all !  when  a  girl's  a 

lady That  cousin  of  yours  now.     I  remember 

lifting  her  up  on  to  her  first  pony.  And  now — why, 
damn  it,  Tom,  she's  hand  in  glove  with  the  most  dan- 
gerous blackguards  in  the  country.  It  doesn't  do,  Tom. 
I'm  an  old  man  and  I  know.  That  sort  of  thing  never 
does  do.     You  ought  to  look  after  her." 

"  I  know.  I  know,"  said  Tom.  "  But  I  can't  do 
anything  I'm  not  a  bit  clever.  Books  and  all  that 
aren't  in  my  line.  Mona  doesn't  think  anything  of 
me.  She  wouldn't  listen  to  me.  If  I  was  a  brainy 
kind  of  fellow " 

"  Brainy  fellows  be  damned,"  said  Lord  Athowen. 
His  face  lost  its  look  of  weariness  as  he  spoke.  He 
had  come  on  a  subject  which  really  interested  him. 
Memories  of  old  days  set  his  eyes  gleaming.  "  Girls 
don't  want  brainy  fellows,"  he  went  on.     "  What  they 

want Look  here,  Tom,  I'm  seventy  years  old 

and  I  ought  to  know  something  about  girls.  I've  liked 
them  all  my  life.  I  like  them  still,  by  Jove,  if  they're 
pretty.  Though  mind  you,  I  never  did  anything  to 
vex  her  ladyship.  God  bless  her.  She  was  a  sensible 
woman  and  she  understood.  But  never  mind  about 
that.  What  I  want  to  say  is  this.  I  ought  to  know 
something  about  girls  by  this  time.     I'd  be  a  fool  if 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  151 

I  didn't.     What  you  ought  to  do  with  that  cousin  of 


yours 

''  Mona's  different,  I'm  afraid,"  said  Tom. 

*'  No  girl's  different,"  said  Lord  Athowen.  "  Just 
you  try,  Tom.  Give  her  a  squeeze  now  and  then.  If 
you  get  the  chance  you  might  try  a  kiss  or  two.  But 
hang  it  all,  Tom,  I  oughtn't  to  have  to  tell  you  these 
things.     You  ought  to  know  them." 

"  I  do  know,"  said  Tom.  "  Of  course  I  know.  But 
with  Mona " 

"  Nobody  ever  had  to  tell  me,"  chuckled  Lord 
Athowen. 

"  But  Mona " 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Tom,"  said  Lord  Athowen. 
"If  you  don't  do  your  duty  by  that  cousin  of  yours 
there'll  be  trouble  yet.  And  it  isn't  as  if  she  wasn't 
a  pretty  girl.  There'd  be  some  excuse  for  you  then. 
But — well,  if  you  don't  behave  properly  I'll  have  to 
take  the  matter  in  hand  myself.  I  can't  stand  by  and 
see  a  nice  looking  girl  and  a  lady  led  away  into  every 
kind  of  mischief  by  a  lot  of  blackguards,  all  because 
you  young  fellows  are  milksops.  If  Geoffrey  was  at 
home " 

But  Geoffrey,  in  a  dug  out,  shelled,  half  poisoned, 
going  in  daily  peril  of  life  or  limb,  could  not  be 
counted  on.  Lord  Athowen  sighed,  thinking  of  his 
son.  Then  he  turned  and  rode  through  the  gates  up 
the  muddy  avenue.  His  head  drooped  forward  again. 
He  seemed  to  shrink  down  towards  the  saddle.  Once 
more  he  was  an  old  man,  very  old  and  over  wearied 
with  his  hunting. 


152  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  Mrs.  Bryan  rode  briskly 
to  the  cross  roads.  She  threw  the  reins  on  to  her 
horse's  neck  and  slid  to  the  ground. 

"  Sorry  for  keeping  you,  Tom,"  she  said.  "  I  had 
to  see  the  hounds  home.  The  poor  old  Master!  We 
call  him  Master,  but  he's  past  it — can^t  stand  the  whole 
day  and  a  good  run." 

"  You'd  a  good  run  to-day,"  said  Tom. 

"  The  best,  and  a  fair  number  out.  That  horse 
dealing  fellow  from  Dunbeg  was  there  on  a  young  bay. 
He  rather  wanted  me  to  take  her  off  his  hands,  and 
I  would  if  I  thought  you'd  be  fit  to  ride  her  before 
Christmas." 

She  wrapped  herself  in  a  fur  coat  and  took  her  seat 
beside  her  son.  The  groom  trotted  off,  leading  Mrs. 
Bryan's  horse.  The  car  sped  homeward  towards 
Dunally. 

"  Pity  you  weren't  with  us,  Tom,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan. 
"  Pity  Mona  wasn't  with  us.  I  can't  understand  that 
girl.  Here  she  is  in  as  good  a  hunting  county  as  any 
in  Ireland  with  a  horse  that  any  one  might  be  proud 
to  ride  and  she's  only  been  out  twice  in  the  whole 
three  weeks  she's  been  with  us.    I  don't  call  it  natural." 

"  Lord  Athowen  says  she's  just  the  same  as  any 
other  girl,"  said  Tom. 

"  Oh  I  He's  been  talking  about  her,  has  he  ?  And 
what  does  he  advise?  No.  You  needn't  tell  me,  Tom. 
I  know  just  the  sort  of  thing  he'd  say.  I  don't  say 
he's  wrong;  but  I  always  did  wonder  at  the  way  his 
poor  wife  put  up  with  it.  Didn't  seem  to  mind  a  bit 
and  was  quite  happy  with  him  till  she  died.    All  the 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  153 

same  I  shouldn't  try  it  on  with  Mona,  if  I  were  you, 
Tom." 

"  I  don't  mean  to." 

"  If  a  girl  won't  look  at  a  horse,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan, 
"  it  isn't  likely  she'll  put  up  with  a  young  man." 

"  An  inferior  animal,"  said  Tom.  *'  I  know  that. 
But  hang  it  all,  mater,  you  needn't  rub  it  in." 

Mrs.  Bryan's  mind,  always  active,  leaped  back  to  her 
niece's  conduct. 

*'  I  simply  don't  understand  Mona,"  she  said.  '*  It 
isn't  as  if  she  couldn't  ride,  or  hadn't  a  well-fitting 
habit.  Why  on  earth  she  should  prefer  consorting  with 
blackguards ' ' 

"  You  told  her,"  said  Tom,  *'  to  keep  in  touch  with 
her  Sinn  Fein  friends." 

"  I  meant  her  to  put  an  end  to  all  the  talk  about 
stopping  the  hunting.  But  I  didn't  mean  her  to  spend 
her  time  day  and  night  encouraging  a  lot  of  able- 
bodied  young  slackers  to  drill.  Fellows  who  ought 
to  be  in  the  Army  every  man  jack  of  them." 

Another  motor,  driven  at  high  speed,  came  towards 
them  on  the  road.  There  were  three  men  and  a 
woman  in  it.  It  passed  with  much  rattling  and  great 
splashing  of  mud. 

"  Now  look  at  that,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  That's  old 
Maillia,  the  publican,  driving,  and  his  precious  son  is 
in  the  back  of  the  car,  composing  poetry  as  he  goes 
along,  I  suppose.  I  didn't  know  the  other  man;  but 
I  bet  you  what  you  like  that  they've  no  right  to  use 
that  car  and  don't  own  a  petrol  licence  among  them. 
That's  the  way  this  country  is  governed.     If  I  drive 


154  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

to  church  on  Sunday  I'm  fined  the  next  day;  though 
you'd  think  any  government  would  be  pleased  to  see 
people  going  to  church.  But  a  pack  of  rebels  can  go 
joy-riding  and  nobody  says  a  word  about  it." 

"  Did  you  see  who  the  girl  was?  " 

"  No.  I  wasn't  looking  at  the  girl.  I  was  wonder- 
ing who  the  third  man  was  and  where  they're  all  going 
at  this  time  of  night." 

"  It  was  Mona,"  said  Tom. 

Mrs.  Bryan  sat  silent  for  a  few  minutes.  When 
she  spoke  again  it  was  in  a  tone  of  resignation. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  ''  I  can't  help  it.  I've  done  all 
any  woman  could  do  for  that  girl,  and  if  she  prefers — 
I  suppose  it's  a  political  meeting  somewhere." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Tom.  "  I  wish  to  God  Uncle 
Ulick  would  put  a  stop  to  all  this  nonsense." 

"  There's  no  use  expecting  your  Uncle  Ulick  to  do 
anything,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  He  won't.  He's  too 
lazy.  As  a  matter  of  fact  I  expect  he  can't.  If  a  man 
isn't  able  to  govern  Ireland — and  he  always  says  that 
job  is  beyond  him — he'll  certainly  not  be  able  to  man- 
age a  girl  like  Mona." 


CHAPTER  XV 

FIFTY  years  ago  an  intelligent  tourist  travelled 
through  Ireland  using  the  long  cars  of  Mr. 
Bianconi  as  his  chief  means  of  locomotion.  He 
kept  a  diary,  which,  with  a  reticence  rare  in  tourists, 
he  did  not  afterwards  publish.  In  the  diary  he  noted 
what  he  saw  and  made  comments  which  were  some- 
times shrewd  and  interesting.  He  wrote  of  Dunally 
that  it  was  a  shabby  little  town,  picturesquely  situated 
on  the  banks  of  a  river  surrounded,  save  for  the  nar- 
row river  valley,  by  hills,  dependent  for  its  existence 
on  Dunally  House.  In  those  days  the  house — the 
Great  House,  as  the  people  called  it — was  plainly  of 
more  importance  than  the  town.  The  cottages  and 
shops,  even  the  churches,  seemed  to  have  crept  as  close 
as  possible  to  the  wall  of  the  demesne,  as  if  they  drew 
their  life  from  the  house  within  the  wall. 

There  are  towns  in  Ireland — Kilkenny,  for  instance 
— which  grew  up  round  castles,  seeking  shelter  and 
protection  from  the  great  man  who  dwelt  in  the  castle 
in  times  when  war  swept  casually  across  the  land. 
Dunally  House  can  never  have  promised  protection  to 
any  one.  It  is  an  eighteenth  century  building,  not 
without  dignity  of  appearance,  spacious  and  warm 
to  live  in.  But  it  was  not  planned  with  any  idea  of 
military  use.    It  must  be  supposed  that  the  town  gath- 

155 


156  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

ered  round  the  House  for  the  sake  of  its  patronage. 
The  shops  looked  for  profit  in  supplying  the  House 
with  bread  and  meat  and  groceries.  The  churches 
expected  moral  and  financial  support.  The  dwellers 
in  the  cottages  hoped  to  find  work  and  wages  in  the 
service  of  the  Bryans  who  owned  the  house  and  town 
and  countryside. 

To-day  the  town  and  house  are  differently  related. 
Ati  intelligent  traveller,  content  to  go  slowly  enough 
to  form  impressions — a.  difficult  matter  now — might 
write  down  the  house  as  an  elderly  lady,  a  maiden 
aunt  perhaps,  living  among  relatives  of  whose  ways 
she  does  not  wholly  approve.  She  still  claims  respect 
which  now  they  scarcely  pay  her.  Once  she  rewarded 
them  with  lollipops  or  spanked  them,  as  their  conduct 
deserved.  She  wonders  now  that  they  no  longer  crave 
for  her  sweets  or  fear  her  spankings.  She  still  keeps 
a  certain  dignity.  They,  as  yet,  hardly  aspire  to 
dignity. 

The  wall,  high  as  ever,  but  time-worn  and  loose- 
jointed  now,  still  stands,  a  barrier  between  the  lawns 
within  and  the  life  without.  Instead  of  gates  there 
are  heavy  wooden  doors.  The  paint  on  these  is 
chipped  and  shabby.  The  brass  bell-pull  is  loose  on 
its  wire,  but  the  doors  are  as  good  a  guard  as  ever 
against  the  curiosity  of  prying  eyes.  Round  the  gate- 
way the  houses  crowd  and  press  against  the  great 
wall.  But  it  is  impossible  now  to  escape  the  feeling 
that  they  have  turned  their  backs,  w^hat  St.  Paul  calls 
their  uncomely  parts  towards  the  House.  Sordid  gar- 
ments, washed  but  still  in  need  of  washing,  flutter  from 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  157 

lines  fastened  by  rusty  nails  to  the  demesne  wall. 
Women,  bare  armed  and  scantily  petticoated,  move 
through  back  yards  among  broken  crockery  and  debris 
of  their  housekeeping  under  the  shadow  of  the  wall. 
The  same  women,  when  thev  walk  out  of  their  front 
doors,  are  splendidly  dressed  in  "  costumes  "  from  the 
drapers.  Then  their  backs  are  turned  to  the  Great 
House. 

Only  the  position  of  the  town  and  House  remain  un- 
changed. The  river,  widening  out  here,  into  broad 
shallows,  still  flows  along  the  muddy  bank  below  the 
street,  still  turns  an  antique  mill  wheel,  still  on  occa- 
sions floods  the  lower  garden  of  the  Great  House,  just 
as  it  did  fifty  years  ago  when  the  town  existed  on 
sufferance  and  the  house  by  right.  The  hills,  steep 
and  stony,  still  make  a  circle  round  the  towm,  climbed 
over  by  the  bare  road  which  leads  to  the  railway 
station  five  miles  beyond  them.  Once  the  hills  fed 
grouse  for  the  Bryans  of  Dunally  House.  Now  the 
grouse  are  gone,  but  there  are  hares  to  be  coursed  by 
the  young  men  of  Dunally  town. 

Mrs.  Bryan  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table  in  her  din- 
ing-room. Here,  at  least,  the  old  dignity  survived. 
The  architects  of  our  eighteenth  century  house  under- 
stood, what  their  successors  in  these  democratic  days 
do  not  understand,  the  proportions  of  the  rooms  they 
built.  To  so  much  length  and  breadth  so  much  height 
was  necessary  if  the  inhabitants  of  the  house  were  to 
live  in  the  spirit  of  gentlemen  and  ladies.  Doorways, 
so  they  thought,  must  be  spacious  and  lofty,  not  barely 
wide  and  high  enough  to   secure  passers   from  the 


158  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

risk  of  hitting  their  heads  against  lintels  or  rubbing 
their  shoulders  against  doorposts. 

Mrs.  Bryan  was  no  more  responsible  for  the  furni- 
ture of  the  room  than  for  its  design.  The  mahogany 
dining-table,  the  brass-bound  plate  buckets,  the  long 
sideboard  with  its  curved  front  and  the  stiff  chairs 
with  elaborately  carved  backs  were  all  the  choice  of 
Bryans  of  bygone  generations.  But  Mrs.  Bryan  lived 
worthily  among  them.  Her  neck,  displayed  by  a  low- 
cut  dinner  dress,  was  sinewy  and  brown  but  the 
emeralds  round  it  shone  handsomely.  Her  face  was 
weatherbeaten  and  rough  but  it  was  the  face  of  a 
woman  who  knew  her  own  mind  and  would  not  hesi- 
tate to  enforce  her  will. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  table  was  Tom  Bryan.  The 
sticks  which  helped  him  to  get  about  were  leaning  on 
the  arm  of  his  chair.  He  could  not  yet  walk  without 
them,  but  his  face  had  filled  out  and  there  was  a  glow 
of  good  health  on  it.  The  air  of  Dunally  and  the 
treatment  he  received  in  his  convalescent  home,  which 
thanks  to  General  Nolan  was  his  own  home,  had  suited 
him.  A  masseuse  might  perhaps  have  done  something 
to  restore  the  muscles  round  his  knees  to  their  old 
strength;  but  hours  of  limping  round  tables  and  daily 
attempts  to  fix  himself  securely  in  the  saddle  were 
slowly  working  a  cure,  in  a  fashion  much  pleasanter 
than  rubbings  and  kneadings. 

Lord  Athowen  sat  between  his  hostess  and  her  son. 
He  fingered  the  stem  of  his  wine  glass  and  looked 
affectionately  at  the  port  in  it.  Mrs.  Bryan  knew  and 
appreciated  good  port,  but  she  could  scarcely  have 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  159 

bought  the  wine  in  the  decanter  before  her.  It  came 
from  a  bin  laid  down  by  her  husband's  father,  then 
an  old  man,  when  his  grandson  was  born. 

"  Tom  will  drink  it  some  day,"  he  said,  with  strong 
prophetic  faith,  for  at  that  time  Tom's  drink  was  of 
a  very  different  kind. 

"  Get  a  bottle  up  for  him  when  he  comes  home  from 
hunting,"  said  the  old  man,  patting  the  infant's  fat 
cheeks  with  his  forefinger. 

And  now  Tom  was  drinking  the  wine.  His  mother 
got  a  bottle  up  for  him  when  he  came  home  from  a 
greater  kind  of  hunting  than  the  old  man  dreamed  of. 

Between  Tom  and  his  mother  at  the  side  of  the 
table  opposite  Lord  Athowen,  was  a  vacant  place.  It 
should  have  been  occupied  by  Mona  Conolly. 

The  hounds  met  next  day  at  Dunally,  in  the  main 
street  of  the  town.  The  coverts  on  the  hillside  were 
generally  drawn  blank  of  late  years  and  the  run,  if 
there  were  a  run  at  all,  was  a  poor  one.  But  there 
always  had  been  a  meet  at  Dunally.  While  Mrs.  Bryan 
lived  there  always  would  be.  Old  Lord  x^thowen  had 
driven  over  to  spend  the  night  there.  The  town  was 
fifteen  miles  from  his  house  and  he  knew  the  necessity 
for  economizing  his  strength.  He  cracked  a  walnut, 
peeled  the  kernel  carefully  and  dipped  a  corner  of  it 
in  the  salt  on  his  plate.  He  refilled  his  glass  with  port 
and  sipped  it  with  appreciation.  He  could  still  drink 
his  port  after  dinner.  A  man  who  rides  across  country 
can  afford  to  drink  port,  even  in  considerable  quan- 
tities. 

"  All  I  know  about  the  girl,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan,  "  is 


i6o  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

this.  She  was  here  at  tea  time,  looking  very  much 
as  usual,  and  when  I  went  up  to  dress  for  dinner  I 
found  a  note  in  my  room  saying  she  wouldn't  be  home 
to-night  but  that  she  expected  to  see  me  again  to- 
morrow. Now  when  I  was  a  girl,  I'd  no  more  have 
thought " 

"  Come  now,  Caroline,"  said  Lord  Athowen.  "  It's 
annoying  I  know,  and,  of  course,  you're  anxious.  It's 
dashed  annoying  not  knowing  where  she  is  or  what 
she's  doing.  But  girls  always  ran  rigs.  They  did  in 
your  time.  They  did  in  mine.  The  pretty  ones  any- 
how. You  did  yourself,  Caroline.  I  can  remember 
hearing  your  father  say " 

"  I  never  went  off  to  a  meeting  of  rebels  in  the 
middle  of  the  night,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan. 

"  No,"  said  Lord  Athowen.  "  You  didn't  do  that. 
But  rebels  weren't  fashionable  in  those  days.  If  they 
had  been " 

Mrs.  Bryan  sniffed  sharply. 

"  The  war  has  upset  girls,"  she  said. 

"  I'm  told  they're  doing  very  good  work,"  said  Lord 
Athowen.     "  Very  good  work,  but " 

He  sighed.  It  is  difficult  for  an  old  man  to  view 
the  good  work  of  the  V.A.D.s  without  a  little  sadness. 
The  war,  so  it  is  said,  gave  girls  their  opportunity. 
Lord  Athowen  was  of  the  opposite  opinion.  He 
thought  the  war  had  deprived  them  of  their  oppor- 
tunity, their  opportunity  of  getting  all  the  laughter 
and  dancing  and  merriment  which  girls  ought  to  have. 

'*  War  work !  "  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  A  pack  of  young 
women  striding  about  in  khaki  uniform."    She  ignored 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  i6i 

the  services  of  the  V.A.D.  ladies  who  wore  uniform 
of  a  different  colour.  "  And  the  thicker  their  legs  are 
the  shorter  the  petticoats  they  wear." 

"Is  that  so?"  said  Lord  Athowen.  "I  don't  see 
many  of  them.  Tom,  is  what  your  mother  says  true? 
The  thicker  their  ankles " 

*'  I  said  legs,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  In  my  time  it 
was  ankles  and  there  was  no  necessity  for  going 
further.  But  in  my  time  we  wore  dresses  which 
covered  us.  What's  the  use  of  talking  about  ankles 
now  when  girls'  skirts  are  no  longer  than  Highlander's 
kilts?" 

"  Mona's  dresses  are  long  enough,  surely,"  said 
Tom. 

"  Her  dresses,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan,  "  are  sloppy.  I'd 
a  great  deal  rather  see  her  going  about  in  a  skirt  down 
to  her  knees  if  she  was  doing  any  kind  of  respectable 
work,  making  shells,  or  cleaning  windows,  or  driv- 
ing men  about  in  motors.  What  worries  me  is  her 
politics.  You  never  know  where  politics  will  land 
you." 

"  They  ought  to  land  you  in  gaol  nowadays,"  said 
Lord  Athowen.     "  There  used  to  be  some  good  men 

in  politics  when  I  was  young.     But  now The 

country's  in  a  nasty  state  and  I  don't  see  myself  that 
one  side  is  any  worse  than  the  other,  so  far  as  politics 
goes." 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  Mona  in  gaol,"  said  Mrs. 
Bryan. 

"  I  expect  it's  all  right,"  said  Tom.  "  Mona  can 
take  care  of  herself.     She's  not  a   fool.     And  old 


i62  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

Maillia — I  expect  she's  off  somewhere  with  him.  Old 
Maillia's  not  a  fool  either." 

"  He's  kept  out  of  gaol  for  fifty  years,  anyhow," 
said  Mrs.  Bryan. 

"  And  if  Mona's  with  him  he'll  not  let  her  go  too 
far,"  said  Tom.    "  You'll  see  it'll  be  all  right." 

"  Funny,  isn't  it?"  said  Lord  Athowen,  "to  be  re- 
lying on  the  local  publican  to  keep  a  girl  like  your 
niece  out  of  mischief.  A  publican,  by  Jove!  and  a 
girl  like  Mona!  " 

He  stopped  abruptly,  for  a  servant  came  into  the 
room.  There  are  subjects  which  it  is  better  not  to 
discuss  before  servants.  Mona's  escapade,  whatever 
it  might  be,  was  probably  already  being  talked  over 
in  the  servants'  hall.  There  is  no  use  adding  fuel  to 
the  fire  of  gossip  below  stairs.  There  was  an  awkward 
silence  for  a  moment  when  Lord  Athowen  stopped 
speaking.  It  was  Tom  who  made  the  remark  re- 
quired by  circumstances,  something  not  entirely  re- 
mote from  the  subject  interrupted  and  yet  in  no  way 
likely  to  interest  the  butler. 

"  I  must  say  that  our  V.A.D.s  did  excellent  work 
in  France.  The  nurses,  the  regulars,  were  rather 
down  on  them,  so  they  say,  but  the  girls  stuck  it  well 
and  didn't  mind  the  snubbing  nor  the  hard  work.  I'll 
never  forget  the  two  who  looked  after  me  in  the 
hospital  train.     They " 

The  butler  approached  Tom's  chair  and  spoke  to 
him  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  he  said,  "  but  there's  a  man  out- 
side who  wants  to  see  you,  sir." 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  163 

"  Did  you  tell  him  I  was  at  dinner  ?  " 
"Yes,    sir;    but  he    said   his    business   was   most 
particular." 

"  What  sort  of  man  is  he  ?  '* 

"  Well,  sir,  I  showed  him  into  the  morning-room, 


sir." 


A  good  manservant  is  a  fine  judge,  probably  the 
finest  judge  in  the  world,  of  social  position.  Had 
Tom's  visitor  been  a  labourer,  he  would  have  been  left 
standing  on  the  doorstep.  Had  he  been  a  shop-keeper 
or  a  policeman,  he  might  have  stood  on  the  mat  inside 
the  door  or  sat  on  a  chair  in  the  hall.  Had  he  been  a 
gentleman,  as  the  word  is  understood  by  a  butler,  he 
would  have  been  shown  into  the  smoking-room  and 
offered  a  chair  by  the  fire.  The  morning-room  was  a 
cheerless  apartment,  used  by  Mrs.  Bryan  for  business, 
never  occupied  as  a  sittmg-room.  It  was  plain  that 
the  butler  was  a  little  uncertain  about  the  rank  of  the 
visitor. 

'  "  Bettany !  "  said  Tom.  "  Bettany !  I  don't  remem- 
ber the  name.  I  say,  mater,  is  there  any  one  living 
about  here  now  called  Bettany?" 

"  Unless  it's  the  new  vet  in  Dunbeg,"  said  Mrs. 
Bryan,  "the  fellow  who  w^ants  me  to  buy  the 
mare." 

"  His  name  is  Fogarty,"  said  Lord  Athowcn.  "  I 
know  him." 

"  The  only  Bettany  I  ever  knew,"  said  Tom,  "  was 
an  R.A.M.C.  man  who  was  attached  to  our  mess  once; 
but  he  was  killed  later  on  in  a  Field  Dressing  Station, 
so  it  can't  be  him." 


i64  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

"  You'd  better  see  him  whoever  he  is,"  said  Mrs. 
Bryan. 

Tom  fumbled  for  his  sticks  and  stood  up. 

"  I  can  have  a  cigarette  anyhow,"  he  said.  "  The 
worst  of  that  port  of  my  grandad's  is  that  it's  a  sin  to 
smoke  anywhere  near  it." 

He  hobbled  through  the  door  which  the  butler  held 
open  for  him. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  butler  had  lit  two  candles  which  stood 
on  Mrs.  Bryan's  writing-table.  The  light 
they  gave  was  not  brilliant,  but  it  enabled 
Tom  to  get  a  glimpse  of  his  visitor.  Mr.  Bettany 
stood  near  the  fireplace.  He  was  wet;  but  he  seemed 
hot,  as  a  man  might  be  who  had  been  walking  fast  or 
running  through  heavy  rain.  His  clothes  and  boots 
were  very  muddy.  His  eyes  were  imnaturally  bright. 
He  w^as  excited  and  nervous. 

"Captain  Bryan?"  he  said.  "Are  you  Captain 
Bryan?" 

"  That's  me  all  right,"  said  Tom.  *'  Won't  you  sit 
down?" 

Bettany,  in  spite  of  his  excitement,  was  tired.  He 
dropped  into  a  chair.  He  took  out  a  pocket-handker- 
chief and  wiped  his  face.  Tom,  standing  opposite 
him,  glanced  at  his  mud-plastered  clothes  and  boots. 

"Been  mudlarking  a  bit,  haven't  you?"  he  said. 
"  I  haven't  seen  boots  in  such  a  state  since  I  left 
France." 

"  I've  come  a  long  way  to  see  you,"  said  Bettany. 
"  Miles.  And  I  had  to  walk.  The  roads  and  lanes 
— I  tried  one  short  cut — are  vile;  and  I  have  to  get 
back  again." 

Tom  was  looking  at  him  attentively. 

165 


iSa  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

"  I  say,"  he  said,  ''  aren't  you  the  man  who  used  to 
walk  about  Dublin  sometimes  with  my  cousin,  Miss 
Conolly?  I  met  you  several  times  and  once  you  were 
wearing  a  coat  of  mine.  In  fact,  I'd  almost  swear  I 
owned  the  waistcoat  and  trousers  too.  I  hope  you 
gave  them  back." 

"  Oh,  damn  the  coat,"  said  Bettany.  "  I  didn't  come 
all  this  way  to  talk  about  coats." 

"  Still  it  was  my  coat,  and  I'd  rather  like  to 
know " 

"  I  returned  it  to  Miss  Conolly.  I  suppose  she  put 
it  back  where  she  took  it  from.  It's  Miss  Conolly  I 
want  to  speak  about." 

"Where  is  she?" 

"  At  the  present  moment,"  said  Bettany,  "  she's  with 
a  lot  of  cursed  young  fools  who  call  themselves  the 
second  division  of  the  army  of  the  Irish  Republic. 
They've  encamped,  bivouacked  they  say — they  will  try 
and  talk  military  language — anyhow  they've  settled 
down  for  the  night  on  the  side  of  a  hill.  It's  out  in 
the  open  and  infernally  wet.  Miss  Conolly  is  in  a 
dirty  little  shed  which  she  calls  G.H.Q.  They're  all 
singing  war  songs.  It  sounds  perfectly  absurd,  I 
know.  It  would  be  absurd  if  it  wasn't  certain  to  end 
in  bloodshed  and  men  being  hanged  afterwards." 

Bettany  shuddered.  He  was  a  man  of  vivid  imagi- 
nation, and  the  thought  of  hanging  affected  him  pain- 
fully, especially  when  it  was  quite  possible  that  he 
himself  might  be  hanged. 

"  I  didn't  know  these  damned  Irish  were  like  this," 
he  said.    "If  I'd  ever  supposed  for  one  instant  that 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  167 

they  really  meant  to  fight,  I  wouldn't  have  gone  near 
them." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  said  Tom,  "  that  my 
cousin  is  getting  up  some  kind  of  rebellion?  Sure 
you're  not  drunk?  " 

"  There's  nothing  to  drink  in  that  infernal  camp 
except  tea,  so  I  can't  be  drunk.  I  wish  to  God  I  was 
drunk.  It  would  be  a  great  deal  better  to  be  drunk 
than  to  be  mixed  up  with  a  business  like  this  where 
every  one  is  bound  either  to  be  shot  at  once  or  hanged 
afterwards." 

"  Look  here,"  said  Tom.  *'  If  what  you  say  is  true 
or  even  half  true,  it's  rather  serious.  I  don't  mind 
battles  much  myself,  though  I  don't  profess  actually 
to  like  them;  and,  of  course,  we're  all  thoroughly  ac- 
customed to  the  notion  of  civil  war  in  this  country. 
We've  been  living  on  the  verge  of  it  ever  since  I  can 
remember  anything.  But  I  don't  want  my  cousin 
mixed  up  with  the  police.  I'd  like  to  do  what  I  can 
to  get  her  out  before  there's  any  actual  row.  But  I 
don't  quite  see  what  I  can  do.  Would  you  mind  my 
telling  your  story,  what  I've  heard  of  it,  to  my  mother 
and  Lord  Athowen?  They're  here  in  the  house,  just 
finished  dinner,  I'd  like  to  have  their  advice." 

Bettany  did  not  answer  at  once.  He  sat  with  his 
elbows  resting  on  the  arms  of  his  chair.  He  was 
rubbing  his  thumbs  against  the  tips  of  his  fingers  in 
quick  nervous  movements.  He  was  looking  at  the 
carpet  in  front  of  his  chair.  But  now  and  then  he 
raised  his  eyes  and  glanced  at  Tom's  face. 

"  Whether  you  like  it  or  not,"  said  Tom,  "  I  must 


i68  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

speak  to  my  mother  about  what  you've  told  me,  and 
she's  sure  to  tell  Lord  Athowen.  It  would  be  much 
better  if  you  told  them  the  whole  story  yourself." 

"Can  I  trust  them?" 

"  I  suppose  you  can  trust  them  as  much  as  you  can 
trust  me,"  said  Tom.  "  And  anyhow  I  don't  see  where 
the  trusting  comes  in.  They  don't  want  to  do  you 
any  harm." 

"  They  might  give  me  away,"  said  Bettany.  "  I 
don't  know  what  would  happen  to  me  if  it  came  out 
that  I'd  given  information.  These  people  are  desper- 
ate, Miss  Conolly  and  all  of  them.  They  might — I 
don't  believe  she'd  hesitate  about  giving  orders  to 
have  me  shot." 

"Hang  it  all,"  said  Tom,  "she  can't  be  as  blood- 
thirsty as  all  that." 

"  Bloodthirsty !  "  said  Bettany.  "  She's  mad,  stark 
mad.  She's  not  responsible  for  what  she  says  or  does. 
And  the  men  with  her  are  worse.  They'd  do  any- 
thing." 

"  Anyhow,"  said  Tom,  "  I  must  consult  somebody. 
I'm  helpless  myself,  dead  lame.  Besides,  the  people 
I'm  talking  about  won't  give  you  away.  You  wait 
here  till  I  come  back  to  you.    I  won't  be  long." 

He  hobbled  towards  the  door.  As  he  reached  it 
Bettany  called  to  him. 

"  I  say — I  hardly  like  to  ask.  But  I'm  really  done 
up,  nervous  exhaustion  and  all  that " 

Tom  looked  him  over  with  cool,  contemptuous  eyes. 

"  Fright  principally,"  he  said.  "  Fright's  often 
spoken  of  as  nervous  exhaustion.'* 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  169 

"Well,  call  it  fright  if  you  like.  I'm  not  ashamed 
of  being  frightened.  But  I  do  want  something  to 
drink.  I  told  you  those  lunatics  had  nothing  but  tea. 
Tea— damn    it    all.      Could    you    manage    a    little 

whisky?  " 

"  All  right,"  said  Tom.    ''  I'll  send  you  some." 
Tom  kept  his  word.    On  his  way  across  the  hall  he 

called  the  butler  and  told  him  to  take  some  whisky 

to  Mr.  Bettany  in  the  morning-room. 

"Perhaps,"  he  said,  "you'd  better  not  leave  the 

decanter." 

"  Shouldn't  think  of  doing  that,  sir,"  said  the  butler. 

"I'm  most  careful,  sir." 

Tom  entered  the  dining-room  and  shut  the  door 

carefully. 

"  This  fellow  Bettany,"  he  said,  "  has  come  to  tell 
us  that  Mona  has  started  a  rebellion— regular  civil 
war,  according  to  him.  She's  up  somewhere  in  the 
hills,  camped  out,  and  a  lot  of  men  with  her." 
•  "I  declare  to  God,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan,  "  Mona's 
more  trouble  than  twenty  ordinary  girls." 

"  I've  been  saying  for  weeks,  for  months — I've  been 
saying  for  years,"  said  Lord  Athowen,  "  that  the 
country  is  in  a  critical  condition.  Nobody  will  listen 
to  me,  of  course.  Nobody  will  ever  listen  to  men  like 
me.  I'm  not  a  bit  surprised  at  what  has  happened.  I 
suppose  they're  murdering  people  right  and  left." 

"  So  far,"  said  Tom,  "  they  don't  seem  to  have  done 
anything  much  except  sing  songs  and  drink  tea,  ac- 
cording to  Bettany.  Of  course,  I  don't  know  anything 
but  what  he  told  me." 


I70  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

"Who  is  Bettany?"  said  Mrs.  Bryan,  "and  what 
has  he  got  to  do  with  it?" 

"  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea  who  he  is/'  said  Tom. 
"  I  met  him  once  walking  about  Dublin  in  a  suit  of  my 
clothes.  Except  for  that,  I  don't  know  a  thing  about 
him." 

"  Doesn't  sound  the  sort  of  man  one  ought  to  trust," 
said  Lord  Athowen.     "If  he  steals  clothes  he  might 


"  He's  drunk,  I  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan, 

"  He  wasn't  when  I  was  with  him,"  said  Tom,  "  but 
he  evidendy  wanted  to  be.  He  asked  me  for  whisky 
and  I  sent  him  some.  The  poor  devil  was  in  such  a 
fright  that  I  thought  a  drink  was  the  only  thing  for 
him.  I  said  the  decanter  wasn't  to  be  left  there, 
though,  and  I  don't  suppose  he  got  enough  to  affect 
him.  Still,  you  never  know.  A  small  drop  upsets 
these  excitable  people  sometimes,  and  he's  got  the 
wind  up  properly.  He  thinks  Mona  will  shoot  him 
if  she  finds  out  he's  been  here." 

"  Must  be  drunk,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  Shall  we 
have  him  in  and  talk  to  him  before  he  gets  any 
drunker?  I  don't  believe  there's  another  rebellion; 
but  Mona  is  evidently  making  a  fool  of  herself,  and 
I  suppose  we'll  have  to  do  something." 

"  I  shan't  be  a  bit  surprised  if  there  is  a  rebellion  " 
said  Lord  Athowen.     "I've  been  saying   for  years 


"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  What  on 
earth  is  there  to  rebel  about?  Besides,  nobody  would 
do  it — nobody  could  do  it  in  the  middle  of  the  hunting. 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  171 

Last  time  they  wanted  to  rebel  they  had  the  decency 
to  wait  till  Easter  week." 

"  Shall  I  ring  the  bell  and  have  him  in?  "  said  Tom. 

'*  Better  go  yourself  and  fetch  him,"  said  Mrs. 
Bryan.  "  There's  no  use  mixing  servants  up  in  these 
things  more  than  one  can  help." 

Tom  hobbled  out  of  the  room.  Mrs.  Bryan  turned 
to  Lord  Athowen. 

"  You'd  better  talk  to  him,"  she  said.  "  YouVe  a 
magistrate  and  you  must  be  accustomed  to  dealing 
with  drunken  men." 

But  Bettany,  when  he  appeared,  was  not  drunk. 
The  whisky  had  steadied  his  nerves.  He  was  better 
able  to  talk  coherently  than  he  was  when  Tom  first 
saw  him.  He  bowed  to  Mrs.  Bryan  when  he  came  in, 
drew  a  chair  up  to  the  table  and  sat  down.  He  had 
not  in  the  least  the  air  of  a  prisoner  before  a  mag- 
istrate. It  seemed  that  he  meant  to  treat  the  party 
round  the  table  as  equals,  if  not  friends. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Lord  Athowen,  "  you'll  first  of  all 
tell  us  who  you  are." 

"  I  don't  see  that  it  matters  who  I  am,"  said  Bet- 
tany, "  but  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  I'm  a  journa- 
list. I've  written  a  good  many  articles  on  Ireland  for 
the  English  press." 

He  kept  his  eyes  on  Lord  Athowen  as  he  spoke. 
He  did  not  want  to  be  cross-questioned  or  to  have  to 
explain  how  he  came  to  be  in  Ireland  writing  articles 
when  his  fellow-countrymen  were  in  France  fighting 
Germans.  But  Lord  Athowen  showed  no  inclination 
to  ask  questions.     It  was  Mrs.  Bryan  who  spoke. 


172  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

"  That  accounts  for  the  whole  thing,'*  she  said. 
"  All  newspaper  people  are  the  same.  They  come  over 
here  looking  for  things  to  write  about  and  they  invent 
the  most  ridiculous  stories.  I  don't  believe  there's 
any  rebellion." 

"  But  where's  Mona?"  said  Tom. 

Lord  Athowen  turned  to  Bettany  again. 

"  Can  you  tell  us  where  Miss  Conolly  is  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  can't  tell  you  the  name  of  the  place,"  said  Bet- 
tany, "  but  she's  out  with  a  lot  of  men,  the  volunteers 
and  a  lot  of  others,  about  a  mile  from  here,  in  that 
direction" — he  pointed  vaguely  towards  the  v/indow — 
"  in  a  sort  of  hollow  among  the  hills,  all  covered  with 
gorse,  with  a  shed  in  it.     It's  not  far  from  the  river." 

"  Mulcahy's  covert,"  said  Mrs,  Bryan,  "  and  we 
meant  to  draw  it  to-morrow.  It's  just  the  one  chance 
we  had  of  finding  a  fox.  And  now  any  fox  there  was 
will  be  frightened  away.  A  lot  of  fools  singing  songs 
in  a  covert !    It  makes  me  ashamed  to  be  Irish." 

"  What  are  they  doing  there?  "  said  Lord  Athowen. 
"  What  are  they  there  for  ?  " 

"  It's  a  rebellion,"  said  Bettany,  ''  a  rising.  They're 
armed.  At  least  some  of  them  are.  They  want  to 
fight.  I  tell  you  it's  serious.  You  may  believe  me  or 
not,  but  if  something  isn't  done  there'll  be  bloodshed. 
A  lot  of  people  will  get  killed  fighting,  and  afterwards 
It's  wicked  lunacy.    You  must  stop  it." 

"  What  are  they  rebelling  about?  "  said  Mrs.  Bryan. 
"  Not  that  I  believe  they  are  rebelling.  But  what  are 
they  supposed  to  be  rebelling  about?  " 

"  Conscription,"  said  Bettany.    "  I  quite  sympathize 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  173 

with  them  in  hating  conscription.     They're  right  to 
oppose  it  by  constitutional  means.     I  always  said  that 

if  they  appealed  to  the  Labour  Party  in  England 

But  this — this  rebellion Don't  you  see  it  can't 

succeed.    They've  no  kind  of  chance." 

''  Not  the  slightest,"  said  Lord  Athowen. 

*'  I  don't  see  why  they've  suddenly  taken  to  rebelling 
just  now,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan,  "  if  they  are  rebelling. 
The  Government  has  been  threatening  conscription  for 
the  last  six  weeks.  But  everybody  knows  they  don't 
mean  to  do  it.  No  Government  ever  does  anything. 
Mona  ought  to  know  that,  even  if  the  others  don't. 
I've  told  her  so  often  enough.  Besides,  she's  lived  in 
the  house  with  her  father.  She  must  know  that  all 
Governments  ever  do  is  talk." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Bettany.  "  They've  got  it 
into  their  heads,  and  Miss  Conolly  believes  it  just  as 
the  others  do.  She  came  down  here  to  organize  the 
people  to  resist  conscription  if  any  attempt  was  made 
to  enforce  it.  That  was  all  settled  before  we  left 
Dublin.  And  yesterday  she  had  a  letter  from  Eibhlin 
Murphy " 

"Who  is  Eibhlin  Murphy?"  said  Lord  Athowen. 

"  This  is  where  I  come  in,"  said  Tom.  "  I  know 
all  about  her.  She's  a  little  typewriting  girl  in  Uncle 
Ulick's  office,  as  pretty  as  they  make  'em.  You'd  like 
her.  Lord  Athowen.  She  lunched  with  me  at  the 
Bonne  Bouche  one  day.  She  hadn't  much  to  say  for 
herself,  rather  shy  I  should  say;  but  in  the  matter  of 
looks  she's  Ai.    Good  figure,  you  know,  and  fine  eyes." 

"  Seems  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan,  "  that  they're  all 


174  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

a  pack  of  silly  children.  Little  typewriting  girls  who 
go  out  to  lunch  with  boys  like  you,  Tom,  don't  start 
rebellions.'* 

"  That  sort  of  girl  knows  better,"  chuckled  Lord 
Athowen. 

"  Eibhlin  Murphy  is  a  Sinn  Feiner,"  said  Bettany, 
**  a  most  dangerous  woman.  She  gets  information 
from  private  Government  papers  and  passes  it  on  to 
Alfred  Patterson  and  Miss  Conolly.  She  sees  all  the 
letters  in  that  office.'* 

"  I  always  knew  Ulick  was  a  fool,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan, 
"  and  what's  more  I've  always  told  him  so  plainly. 
All  men  are  fools.  You're  a  fool,  Tom.  So  are  you" 
— she  turned  to  Lord  Athowen.  "Any  girl  could 
twist  you  round  her  finger." 

"  Any  pretty  girl,"  said  Lord  Athowen.  "Give  me 
some  credit,  Caroline.    The  girl  must  be  pretty." 

"  Do  listen  to  me,"  said  Bettany.  "  This  is  serious. 
It's  frightful.    Eibhlin  Murphy  isn't  a  pretty  girl." 

"She  is,"  said  Tom.  "Do  you  think  I'd  have 
wasted  five  bob  on  giving  her  lunch  if  she  hadn't  been 
decent  looking?  " 

"  She  isn't  only  a  pretty  girl,"  said  Bettany.  "  She's 
a  spy.  She's  dangerous.  She's  mad.  It  was  she" — 
he  addressed  Tom  directly — "  who  told  them  that  you 
are  in  the  Military  Secret  Service." 

"In  the !     I In  the !"     Tom  gasped. 

"  Good  Lord !  What  made  her  say  that  ?  But — I  say, 
did  any  one  believe  her?  " 

"Of  course,  we  believed  her,"  said  Bettany.  "She 
said  you  told  her  so  yourself." 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  175 

"  I  talk  rot  sometimes,"  said  Tom.  "  I  know  I  talk 
a  lot  of  rot;  but  I  can't  have  said  that.  Hang  it  all, 
I  can't." 

"  Then  yesterday,"  said  Bettany,  "  she  wrote  to 
Miss  Conolly  and  said  that  conscription  was  to  be  en- 
forced at  once  and  that  the  Government  meant  to 
begin  with  certain  specified  districts  in  out-of-the-way 
parts  of  the  country,  and  that  Dunally  was  to  be  one  of 
the  first  places  in  which  a  round  up  would  be  made. 
That's  why  they're  rebelling.  Eibhlin  Murphy  said 
the  information  was  certain.  She  got  it  from  a  torn- 
up  letter  which  she  took  out  of  a  waste-paper  basket. 
It  seemed  to  be  quite  true." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  The  three  listeners 
looked  at  each  other. 

"  That  can't  be  true,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  The  po- 
lice would  know  if  the  Government  meant  to  do  any- 
thing of  the  kind  and  the  sergeant  would  have  told 
me. 

"You'd  think,"  said  Lord  Athowen,  '*  that  the  idea 
would  have  been  mentioned  to  me  as  Lord  Lieutenant 
of  the  county.  I  certainly  ought  to  have  been  told. 
But  that  doesn't  mean  much  nowadays.  A  man  in  my 
position  isn't  consulted.  Still  I  don't  think  that  the 
Government  can  possibly " 

"  Sounds  to  me,"  said  Tom,  "  rather  like  the 
information  about  my  being  in  the  secret  service. 
Perhaps  she  got  that  out  of  the  waste-paper  basket 
too.  Great  Scott!  And  I  thought  that  little  girl 
was  too  innocent  to  live  the  day  she  lunched  with 
me. 


176  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

"  Of  course,"  said  Lord  Athowen.  "  If  the  Govern- 
ment really  does  intend " 

"  It  doesn't,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan  decisively.  "  I  know 
Ulick  and  he  never  really  intends  anything.  No  more 
does  the  Government.  Look  here  now,  young  man," 
she  turned  abruptly  to  Bettany.  "That  silly  niece  of 
mine  and  her  scratch  pack  of  corner  boys  are  out  in 
Mulcahy's  covert  to  defend  themselves  against  con- 
scription, isn't  that  it?  " 

"  They  say  they'll  never  be  taken  alive,"  said  Bet- 
tany.    "  And  they  mean  it,"  he  added  vehemently. 

"  That  seems  to  me  all  right  then,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan. 
"  Except  that  they've  spoiled  our  chance  of  finding  a 
fox  to-morrow  there's  no  particular  harm  done.  I'll 
give  Mona  a  piece  of  my  mind  about  that  when  she 
comes  back.  I  dare  say  she  won't  be  back  for  three 
or  four  days;  but  she'll  hardly  be  longer  than  that, 
specially  if  it  rains." 

Bettany  clenched  his  fists  and  stood  up.  He  seemed 
desperately  excited. 

"Are  you  mad?"  he  said.  "Are  you  as  mad  as 
those  damned  fools  out  there  ?  Don't  you  understand 
that  this  is  civil  war,  shooting  and  blood  and  hang- 
ing  ?     Oh  hell!" 

"  As  well  as  I  can  understand  from  what  youVe 
told  us,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan,  "  my  niece  and  her  young 
idiots  are  going  to  entrench  themselves  in  Mulcahy's 
covert  until  somebody  goes  to  capture  them.  Well,  no- 
body's going.  Everybody  who  knows  anything  about 
Ireland  knows  that  things  like  that  aren't  done,  ever. 
So  Mona  can  just  stay  there.     If  she  gets  a  bad  cold 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  177 

it'll  serve  her  right.  I  shan't  pity  her.  Now,  young 
man — what  did  you  say  your  name  was?  Bettany? 
Well,  Mr.  Bettany,  you'd  better  have  a  glass  of  port 
and  get  off  home,  wherever  your  home  is.  We  have 
to  be  up  early  to-morrow.  I'm  not  going  to  be  put  off 
the  meet  even  if  I  can't  draw  Mulcahy's  covert." 

Tom  filled  a  glass  of  port  for  Bettany  while  she 
spoke. 

"  And  if  you're  writing  another  article  about  Ire- 
land," Mrs.  Bryan  went  on,  ''  instead  of  spreading 
yourself  and  talking  big  about  rebellions,  just  you  put 
in  a  few  of  my  remarks.  They'll  be  fresh  to  the  Eng- 
lish public,  for  it'll  be  the  first  time  they've  heard  the 
truth  about  Ireland.  You  can  say  that  you  have  them 
from  an  intelligent  Irish  lady  who  takes  an  interest  in 
the  future  of  her  country  and  doesn't  believe  in 
poHtics." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

MRS.  BRYAN'S  judgment  on  one  point  was 
perfectly  right.  Eibhlin  Murphy  had  been 
mistaken  in  supposing  that  the  Government 
meant  to  enforce  conscription  on  Ireland  beginning 
with  a  raid  at  Dunally.  On  the  other  point  Mrs. 
Bryan  was  unfortunately  wrong.  The  rebels  did  not 
stay  quietly  in  the  covert,  waiting  for  some  one  to 
come  and  fetch  them.  Perhaps  they  found  the  place 
damp.  Perhaps  provisions  were  hard  to  come  by. 
Perhaps  Mona  believed  in  vigorous  and  aggressive 
action.  Very  early  next  morning  she  marched  her  men 
to  Dunally  and  took  possession  of  the  town. 

The  thing  was  very  well  done.  Long  before  most 
of  the  inhabitants  were  awake  the  police — there  were 
only  eight  of  them — were  shut  up  in  their  barrack. 
Their  arms  were  taken  from  them  and  guards  posted 
to  prevent  their  escape.  The  post  office  was  seized  and 
the  telegraph  wires  were  cut.  A  large  Sinn  F^in  flag 
was  hoisted  over  the  Court  House.  Sentries  were  set 
on  all  the  roads,  and  no  one  was  allowed  to  enter  or 
leave  the  town  without  a  written  permit.  There  was 
no  looting  or  disorder.  The  manager  of  the  bank  was 
allowed  to  seal  up  his  safe  and  commanded  to  close 
his  doors. 

Mrs.  Bryan  learned  of  what  had  happened  from  the 
maid  who  called  her  in  the  morning.    Being  a  woman 

178 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  i79 

of  intelligence,  she  recognized  at  once  that  hunting 
was  impossible  that  day.  Instead  of  a  riding  habit 
she  put  on  a  tweed  skirt  and  came  down  to  breakfast. 
She  found  Lord  Athowen  waiting  for  her.  Tom  ap- 
peared a  few  minutes  later. 

"I  say,"  he  said,  ''rather  a  coup  de  what-do-you- 
call-it  of  Mona's,  isn't  it?  If  our  generals  in  France 
could  bring  off  their  little  stunts  as  neatly  as  Mona 
has  managed  hers,  we'd  have  been  in  Berlin  long  ago. 
I  always  told  you  she  was  brainy,  didn't  I,  mater  ?  But 
you'd  never  admit  it." 

"  Mona's  a  fool,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan,  "  and  I'll  tell 
her  so  as  soon  as  I  see  her." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  she's  got  herself  into  rather 
a  scrape,"  said  Lord  Athowen.  "I  don't  see  how 
the  Government,  any  Government,  can  possibly  ignore 
this  performance.    I  hear  she's  taken  possession  of  the 

whole  town." 

"  I  shall  telegraph  to  her  father  immediately  after 
breakfast,'^  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  I  refuse  to  be  respon- 
sible for  that  girl  any  longer.  She's  his  daughter  and 
he  must  look  after  her  himself." 

Breakfast  was  interrupted  and  Mrs.  Bryan's  plan  of 
telegraphing  spoiled  by  the  arrival  of  Peter  Maillia  in 
the  uniform  of  a  Volunteer  ofificer.  He  brought  eight 
men  with  him  and  he  refused  to  wait  outside  the  door 
when  the  butler  told  him  to.  He  left  his  men  there, 
drawn  up  in  a  very  correct  line  on  the  gravel.  He 
himself  entered  the  house  in  spite  of  the  butler's  pro- 
tests. He  walked  straight  into  the  dining-room. 
There  he  clicked  his  heels  together  and  stood  to  atten- 


rSo  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

tion.  Ignorance  of  military  etiquette  or  a  sense  of  re- 
spect for  Mrs.  Bryan,  which  he  had  been  unable  to 
conquer,  led  him  to  take  off  his  cap.  In  every  other 
way  his  behaviour  and  bearing  were  those  of  a  real 
soldier. 

"  My  orders,*'  he  spoke  with  abrupt  decision,  "  are 
to  arrest  Captain  Bryan.  He  will  be  treated  as  a 
prisoner  of  war." 

"  Oh,  we're  at  war,  are  we?  "  said  Mrs.  Bryan. 

"  Who's  the  war  between  ?  "  said  Lord  Athowen. 
"I  mean,  who  are  the  belligerents?" 

"  The  Irish  Republic,"  said  Maillia,  "  has  declared 
war  on  England." 

"  Stuff  and  nonsense,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  Run 
home  and  tell  your  father  I  want  to  speak  to  him. 
He's  got  some  sense  when  he's  sober  and  he  can't  have 
much  to  drink  at  this  time  of  day." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  march  me  off  at  once  and  shut 
me  up,  do  you?"  said  Tom. 

"  My  orders,"  said  Maillia. 

"  Mona  gave  the  orders,  I  suppose,"  said  Tom. 
"  Well,  just  go  and  tell  her  this  from  me.  If  she's 
going  to  war  she  must  do  the  thing  properly,  accord- 
ing to  the  rules.  I'm  a  wounded  man.  You  can  see 
that  by  my  crutches  and  the  way  I  limp.  What's 
more  this  house  is  a  hospital,  or  a  convalescent  home, 
which  is  the  same  thing.  If  we'd  known  you  were 
coming  we'd  have  rigged  up  some  kind  of  a  Red  Cross 
flag  and  flown  it  so  that  you  could  see  for  yourselves. 
Now  one  of  the  first  rules  of  war  among  civilized  na- 
tions is  that  hospitals  and  wounded  men  must  be  re- 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  i8i 

spected.    No  decent  people Look  here,  you  don't 

want  to  be  Huns,  do  you?  Very  well  then,  wage  war 
in  a  civilized  way  and  let  me  have  my  breakfast." 

Maillia  hesitated.  He  even  scratched  his  head  in 
his  perplexity,  though  soldiers  standing  to  attention  do 
not,  in  most  armies,  scratch  their  heads.  He  had  every 
intention  of  carrying  on  the  war  in  the  most  honour- 
able possible  manner.  He  remembered  reading  some- 
where that  hospitals  and  wounded  men  ought  to  re- 
ceive exceptional  treatment. 

"  I   assure  you.   Captain   Maillia "    said   Lord 

Athowen  blandly. 

Mrs.  Bryan  snorted. 

"Captain!"  she  said,  "Captain!  But  I  suppose 
that's  repubHcs." 

Her  words  were  obscure ;  but  the  meaning  was  quite 
plain.    Lord  Athowen,  however,  ignored  it. 

"  I  assure  you,  Captain  Maillia,"  he  said,  "  that  what 
Captain  Bryan  says  is  quite  true.  I'm  not  blaming 
you  for  your  mistake.  I  dare  say  you  haven't  had 
much  practice  in  war.  But  now  that  you  know  what 
the  proper  thing  is,  I'm  sure  you'll  do  it." 

"I  shall  report  what  you  say  to  Colonel  Conolly," 
said  Maillia. 

"Oh,  she's  a  Colonel,  is  she?"  said  Mrs.  Bryan. 
"  Well,  if  you  are  reporting,  as  you  call  it,  just  tell 
her  from  me  that  I'm  telegraphing  at  once  to  her 
father,  asking  him  to  come  down  here.  She's  too  old 
to  be  spanked,  I  suppose,  but  if  he  takes  my  advice  he'll 
lock  her  into  her  own  room  and  give  her  nothing  but 
bread  and  water  for  a  week." 


'i82  UP,  THE  REBELS!  '^ 

"  The  post  office  is  in  our  hands,"  said  Maillia,  "  and 
no  messages  can  be  sent  out  or  received.'* 

He  put  his  cap  on  his  head,  turned  smartly,  and 
marched  out  of  the  room. 

Tom  Bryan  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  laughed. 

"  Young  Maillia !  "  he  said.  "  Well,  I'll  be  hanged ! 
And  Mona  said  he  wrote  poetry.  He  didn't  look  like 
a  poet,  did  he?  H  he'd  kept  his  cap  on  he'd  have 
looked  like  a  Guardee.  Never  saw  such  a  swanky  right 
about  turn  in  our  orderly  room." 

He  laughed  again.    Then  he  suddenly  became  grave. 

"  All  the  same,"  he  said,  "  though  it's  funny  enough, 
it  may  be  serious  for  Mona.  It's  all  very  fine  seizing 
the  post  office  and  the  telegraph,  but  sooner  or  later 
somebody  is  bound  to  hear  what's  happening,  and 

then I    say,    they'll    hardly   hang    Mona,    will 

they?'* 

"  If  I  get  a  hold  of  her,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan,  "  Til  box 
her  ears." 

"  Come  now,"  said  Lord  Athowen,  "  don^t  be  too 
hard  on  her,  Caroline.  You  can  box  young  Maillia*s 
ears,  or  shoot  him  if  you  like.  Good  thing  if  half  of 
them  were  shot.  But  Mona's  a  girl,  you  know,  a  high- 
spirited  little  filly.  They  all  kick  up  their  heels  occa- 
sionally. If  it  wasn't  this  it  would  be  something  else. 
Not  that  I'm  approving  of  rebellion  and  Sinn  Fein. 
Tm  not.  But  girls  aren't  like  men.  you  know.  They 
must  be  treated  differently,  specially  the  pretty  ones." 

"  All  the  same,"  said  Tom,  "  it  will  be  awkward 
for  Mona.  It  seems  to  me  that  it's  up  to  us  to  do 
something  to  get  her  out  of  the  hole  she's  in." 


UP,  THE  REBEJ.S!  183 

He  looked  anxiously  at  his  mother.  He  seemed  to 
hope  that  she  might  produce  some  workable  plan. 

•'  I  wish  I  could  get  hold  of  old  Maillia,"  said  Mrs. 
Bryan.     "  He  has  some  sense." 

"  What  about  the  priests  ?  "  said  Lord  Athowen. 
"Who's  your  parish  priest  here?'* 

"Father  Maguire,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "He's  sane 
enough,  but  he's  getting  old  and  he  hates  being  both- 
ered. His  curate — I  forget  his  name — is  a  red-hot 
Sinn  Feiner.  All  the  same  we'll  try  Father  Maguire 
if  we  can  get  hold  of  him." 

"I'll  go  and  hunt  him  up,"  said  Tom.  "It's  all 
right,  they  won't  do  anything  to  me.  I'm  not  in  uni- 
form. Nothing  to  excite  them  about  my  appearance, 
and  I'd  rather  like  to  see  what's  going  on  in  the  town." 

"  If  you  can  get  hold  of  that  snivelling  newspaper 
man  who  was  here  last  night,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan. 
"What  was  his  name?  Yes.  Bettany.  Bring  Bet- 
tany  along  too.  He  seemed  to  be  in  with  Mona's  lot. 
I  expect  he'd  talk  sense  to  them  if  we  told  him  to.  He 
seemed  to  be  in  a  mortal  funk  of  being  hanged  him- 
self. I  dare  say  he  will  be,  and  anyhow  he  mmst  hate 
not  being  able  to  telegraph  to  his  newspaper.  A  thing 
like  this  would  mean  pounds  to  him,  I  expect." 

"  I'll  go  with  you,  Tom,"  said  Lord  Athowen.  "  It 
ought  to  be  interesting.  I've  had  a  good  deal  of  experi- 
ence of  life  one  way  and  another,  but  I  never  came  in 
for  a  revolution  before." 

The  two  men— Tom  hobbling  on  his  sticks,  Lord 
Athowen  walking  jauntily— passed  through  the  hall 
and  down  the  broad  flight  of  steps  which  led  to  the 


i84  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

gravel  sweep.  Maillia's  eight  men,  steadfast  in  the 
performance  of  duty,  were  still  drawn  up  in  front  of 
the  door.  They  straightened  themselves  and  stood  to 
attention  when  Tom  and  Lord  Athowen  appeared. 
Then,  breaking  their  ranks,  they  gathered  into  a  group 
and  consulted  together  in  low  tones. 

"  Come  on,"  said  Tom.  "  They  don't  quite  know 
whether  to  stop  us  or  not.  They  probably  will  if  we 
hesitate." 

Lord  Athowen  raised  his  hat  and  bowed  slightly 
as  he  passed  the  men.  One  of  them,  a  young  fellow 
with  a  pleasant  face,  touched  his  hat  and  then  hastily 
put  his  hand  into  his  pocket  as  if  ashamed  of  him- 
self. 

"  Our  postman,"  said  Lord  Athowen,  "  a  nice  boy, 
always  civil.  Hope  he  won't  get  into  trouble  for  touch- 
ing his  hat  to  me." 

"  I  say,"  said  Tom,  "  why  did  you  take  off  your 
hat  to  them?  I'm  blest  if  I'm  going  to  salute  the  beg- 
gars.   Why  the  deuce  should  I?" 

"  In  the  case  of  an  Army  of  Occupation,"  said  Lord 
Athowen,  "it's  always  done.  You  can't  remember — 
you  weren't  born  then — but  when  the  Prussians  entered 
Paris  in  1871  they  insisted  on  being  saluted  by  the  peo- 
ple. I  always  like  to  behave  properly.  One  ought,  in 
these  matters  of  manners  and  etiquette,  to  remember 
that  one's  a  gentleman." 

The  high  wooden  doors  which  shut  off  the  avenue 
from  the  street  outside,  were  wide  open.  The  lodge- 
keeper's  wife  stood  at  her  door,  white-faced,  puzzled. 

"  I'm  very  sorry,  Captain,"  she  said,  "  it's  not  my 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  185 

fault  and  I  hope  the  mistress  won't  be  angry.  I 
couldn't  help  it,  sir.  They  would  do  it  in  spite  of  me." 
She  pointed  to  a  large  notice  nailed  on  one  of  the 
doors.  Lord  Athowen,  fumbling  for  his  glasses,  went 
close  to  it.     Tom,  hobbling  after  him,  read  it  aloud. 

"  The  town  of  Dunally  is  under  the  control  of  the 
officers  of  the  Irish  Republican  Army.  The  day  of  lib- 
erty has  dawned.  The  people  of  Ireland  are  at  last 
free.  The  peril  of  conscription  is  past.  Business  is  to 
be  carried  on  as  usual,  with  the  exception  of  the  sale 
of  intoxicating  drink,  which  is  strictly  forbidden. 
Riot,  pillage  and  all  injury  to  person  and  property  will 
be  severely  punished.  All  goods  taken  for  the  use  of 
the  army  will  be  paid  for  and  a  signed  receipt  given 
at  the  time  of  requisition. 

"  Signed  at  H.O.     Mona  Conolly. 

"  In  the  Name  of  the  Republic.    God  Save  Ireland." 

The  notice,  with  the  exception  of  Mona's  signature. 
Avas  in  large  block  capitals  apparently  drawn  with  a 
fine  paint  brush,  certainly  wnth  a  lavish  expenditure 
of  ink. 

"  Mona  is  going  it,"  said  Tom,  "  isn't  she?" 

"  Quite  in  order,"  said  Lord  Athowen.  ''  Quite  cor- 
rect, the  whole  thing.  But  I  wonder  how  they'll  like 
the  total  prohibition  clause." 

"  Trying  them  a  bit  high,"  said  Tom. 

"Still  it's  the  right  thing,"  said  Lord  Athowen. 
"  It  will  look  well  in  history  afterwards.  I  suppose 
the  Court  House  is  H.Q.     I  see  a  large  flag  floating 


i86  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

over  it,  and  several  sentries  at  the  door.  Ah!  here's 
our  friend  the  poet  coming  out.  He's  coming  to  speak 
to  us.  I  hope  he's  not  going  to  put  you  under  arrest, 
Tom." 

Peter  Maillia  came  down  the  steps  of  the  Court 
House.  He  marched  across  the  street,  halted  in  front 
of  Tom  Bryan  and  saluted  smartly.  Lord  Athowen 
lifted  his  hat  and  bowed.  Tom,  grinning  broadly, 
raised  his  cap.    Maillia  handed  him  a  paper. 

*'  Captain  Bryan,"  he  read,  *'  an  officer  in  the  Eng- 
lish army,  is  released  from  arrest  on  giving  his  word 
that  he  will  offer  no  resistance  to  the  troops  of  the 
Irish  Republic." 

"  Couldn't  resist  if  I  wanted  to,"  said  Tom.  "  I'm 
dead  lame.  Besides,  I  don't  see  any  point  in  trying  to 
put  up  a  fight  all  by  myself." 

"  It's  as  well  for  you  not,"  said  Maillia.  "  The  boys 
are  in  a  good  enough  temper  up  to  now,  but  if  anything 
was  to  happen  in  the  way  of  a  fight  it  mightn't  be  you 
would  get  the  best  of  it." 

He  spoke  quite  naturally,  even  in  a  friendly  tone. 
Then  he  suddenly  recollected  himself.  He  was,  after 
all,  Chief  of  the  Staff  of  a  victorious  General.  His 
next  sentence  was  uttered  crisply,  and  there  was 
scarcely  a  trace  of  Irish  accent  or  intonation  in  the 
way  he  spoke. 

''  Captain  Bryan,"  he  said,  "  is  to  understand  that 
he  is  not  permitted  to  leave  the  town,  and  that  all 
attempts  at  communication  with  the  enemy  are  strictly 
forbidden." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Tom.    "  I'll  remember.    As  a  m^- 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  187 

ter  of  fact  we're  on  our  way  to  see  your  father.  He 
doesn't  count  as  an  enemy,  does  he?  There  won't  be 
any  harm  communicating  with  him?  " 

"  You  may  talk  to  him  if  it  pleases  you,"  said 
Maillia. 

Old  Maillia's  shop  lies  at  the  far  end  of  the  principal 
street,  the  end  furthest  from  Dunally  House.  Tom 
and  Lord  Athowen  went  slowly,  looking  about  them 
with  curiosity.  The  townspeople  were  equally  curious 
about  them.  Women  appeared  at  the  windows  of 
houses  and  stared.  Men  stood  at  the  doors  of  shops 
and  watched  them.  A  few  men  followed  them  up  the 
street.  A  large  number  of  children  streamed  after 
them.  Several  Volunteers,  off  duty  for  the  moment, 
joined  the  crowd  and  moved  up  the  street.  They  were 
distinguished  from  the  civilians  by  their  uniforms  and 
arms,  though  the  uniforms  were  not  always  complete, 
no  more,  in  one  or  two  cases,  than  bandsmen's  caps 
worn  rakishly.  Those  who  had  not  got  rifles — very 
few  had — carried  hockey  sticks  over  their  shoulders. 

Old  Maillia  sat  on  a  packing-case  at  the  door  of  his 
shop.  He  was  smoking  a  short  black  pipe.  He  looked 
sulky.  He  caught  sight  of  Tom  and  Lord  Athowen 
with  their  crowd  of  followers  coming  up  the  street. 
Without  a  sign  of  recognition  or  greeting  he  rose  from 
his  seat,  stuffed  his  pipe  into  his  pocket  and  walked 
into  the  shop.  Then  he  changed  his  mind,  came  out 
and  sat  down  again.    Lord  Athowen  greeted  him. 

"  Nice  day,  Maillia,"  he  said.  "  It  would  have  been 
a  fine  day  for  the  meet,  but  of  course  that's  off  now." 

"  La  bhreagh,"  said  Maillia. 


i88  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

"  If  you're  going  to  talk  Irish,"  said  Tom,  "  we 
shan't  understand  half  you  say.  I  do  know  la  bhreagh 
means  fine  day,  so  we're  all  right  so  far.  But  don't 
go  on.  I  know  it  isn't  against  the  law  to  speak  Eng- 
lish because  your  son  has  been  talking  it  quite  a  lot,  so 
you  may  as  well." 

The  crowd  which  had  followed  Tom  and  Lord 
Athowen  up  the  street  was  increasing.  The  people 
stood  in  a  semicircle  round  the  front  of  the  shop. 
They  did  not  press  upon  Tom  and  Lord  xA^thowen  but 
they  were  well  within  earshot.  Old  Maillia,  scowling 
heavily,  let  his  eyes  wander  over  the  people.  When 
he  had  looked  at  them  all,  moving  his  head  slowly 
round,  he  stared  straight  at  Tom. 

''  Mrs.  Bryan  would  like  to  see  you,"  said  Lord 
Athowen,  "  if  you  could  manage  to  come  down  to 
Dunally  House  some  time  to-day.  The  little  grey  she 
meant  to  ride  seems  a  bit  off  colour  and  she'd  like  you 
to  look  at  her.  It's  either  that  or  some  other  business. 
You'll  come,  won't  you?  " 

Old  Maillia's  scowl  deepened. 

"  I'm  damned  if  I  go  near  her,  or  you,  or  any  of  the 
likes  of  you,"  he  said.  "  There's  English  for  you, 
and  I  hope  you  like  it." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  applause  from  the  crowd. 
Old  Maillia,  his  eyes  fixed  on  Tom's  face,  winked 
slightly.  It  was  hardly  to  be  called  a  wink,  no  more 
than  a  very  rapid,  barely  perceptible  flicker  of  his  left 
eyelid.  His  face  retained  its  expression  of  extreme 
malevolence. 

"  The  days  of  bloody  tyrants  is  over,"  said  Maillia, 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  189 

"and  it's  well  for  those  of  you  that  gets  out  of  it 
with  whole  skins.  There's  more  English  for  you, 
since  it's  English  you  want." 

Again  the  crowd  applauded.  Again  Maillia's  eye- 
lid flickered,  this  time  unmistakably.  Lord  Athowen 
laid  his  hand  on  Tom's  arm. 

"  We'd  better  be  going,"  he  said.  "  Let's  walk  down 
to  the  presbytery  and  see  if  Father  Maguire  will  talk 
to  us." 

The  crowd  made  way  for  them,  but  closed  in  be- 
hind them  when  they  passed  and  followed  them  down 
the  street. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Lord  Athowen,  "  that  you've 
been  communicating  with  the  enemy  already,  Tom." 

"You  saw  the  old  reprobate's  wank,  did  you?" 
said  Tom.  "  I  couldn't  be  quite  sure  the  first  time, 
but  there  was  no  mistake  about  the  second.  I  shan't 
be  a  bit  surprised  if  we  see  him  down  at  the  house 
some  time  in  the  course  of  the  day.  But  he's  got  the 
wind  up  rather  badly.  He  daren't  be  seen  speaking 
civilly  to  us." 

"The  Irish  people,"  said  Lord  Athowen,  "are  at 
last  free.     That's  what  Mona's  proclamation  says." 

The  street  in  front  of  them  was  empty.  They  could 
see  the  whole  length  of  it,  down  to  the  Court  House 
and  beyond  it  to  the  gates  of  Dunally  House.  A  man 
hurried  to  the  door  of  the  Court  House,  mounted  a 
bicycle  which  leaned  against  the  steps,  and  rode  up 
the  street. 

"  Looks  like  our  friend  the  journalist,"  said  Lord 
Athowen.     "  I  wonder  if  Mona  has  given  him  leave 


I90  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

to  send  off  an  account  of  the  revolution,  or  even  a 
copy  of  the  proclamation.  It  would  interest  the  Eng- 
lish to  know  that  we  are  free  at  last.** 

"  That's  him  right  enough,"  said  Tom,  "  but  I  don*t 
suppose  he'd  stop  to  speak  to  us." 

The  bicyclist,  who  was  stooping  over  his  handle 
bars,  looked  up.  He  caught  sight  of  Lord  Athowen 
and  Tom,  some  thirty  yards  ahead  of  him.  He  swerved 
immediately,  swept  round  in  a  wide  circle  and  rode 
down  the  street  as  fast  as  he  had  been  riding  up  it. 
Beyond  the  Court  House  he  turned  into  a  narrow  lane 
and  disappeared. 

"  Doesn't  want  to  speak  to  us,"  said  Tom. 

"  Or  perhaps  to  be  seen  speaking  to  us,"  said  Lord 
Athowen. 

"  And  it  isn't  as  if  he  was  wearing  my  clothes  this 
time." 

"  I  wonder  if  he's  allowed  to  leave  the  town,"  said 
Lord  Athowen.  "  It  looked  to  me  as  if  he  was  in 
rather  of  a  hurry  to  be  off,  wherever  he  was 
going." 

The  presbytery,  a  gaunt  square  house,  stands  oppo- 
site the  Court  House,  beside  the  church  to  which  it 
belongs.  In  front  of  it  was  a  gravel  sweep,  tidily 
kept,  and  separated  from  the  road  by  high  iron  railings 
with  two  gates.  The  railings  were  elaborately  painted 
in  various  colours,  green,  blue  and  pink.  The  tops  of 
the  gates  and  the  cross  above  them  were  carefully 
gilt.  The  passerby  gathers  the  impression  that  the 
ecclesiastical  authorities,  having  money  in  hand,  had 
given  a  local  painter  permission  to  lavish  his  best  paint 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  191 

on  the  ironwork  according  to  his  own  ideas  of  what  is 
beautiful. 

Tom  and  Lord  Athowen  passed  through  the  gates 
and  rang  the  door  bell.  An  elderly  woman,  untidily 
dressed,  opened  the  door. 

"If  it's  Father  Maguire  you  want  you  can't  see 
him,"  she  said,  "  and  if  it's  Father  Roche  he's  in  the 
Court  House  along  with  the  rest  of  them.'* 

Lord  Athowen  looked  at  Tom. 

"  It  is  Father  Maguire  we  want,  isn't  it?  "  he  said. 
"  The  parish  priest,  not  the  curate." 

Tom  nodded. 

"  Well,  you  can't  see  him,"  said  the  woman. 
"  Do  you  want  to  have  the  life  bothered  out  of 
him?" 

"  Would  you  mind  telling  him,"  said  Lord  Athowen, 
"  that  Captain  Bryan  and  Lord  Athowen  would  like  to 
speak  to  him  for  a  few  minutes." 

"  I'll  tell  him  no  such  thing,"  said  the  woman. 
"  Amn't  I  doing  my  best  to  keep  him  quiet,  and  him 
an  old  man  now  ?  Amn't  I  trying  to  keep  trouble  from 
him  the  way  he  won't  die  on  us?  " 

A  thin,  quavering  voice  reached  them  from  a  room 
on  the  right  of  the  hall. 

"  Martha,  Martha,  will  you  bring  the  gentlemen  in 
whoever  they  are.  What  right  have  you  to  be  keep- 
ing them  standing  there  on  the  doorstep?  " 

''That's  his  reverence,"  said  the  woman.  "That's 
himself  speaking,  so  there's  no  help  for  it  only  for  you 
to  go  in.  But  you'll  be  careful  now.  Sure  you  look 
kind,    and    you're    a    gentleman " — it    was    to    Lord 


192  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

Athowen  she  spoke.  "  Don't  be  making  worse  trouble 
for  him.    There's  enough  of  that  on  him  already." 

She  opened  a  door  as  she  spoke.  Lord  Athowen 
and  Tom  passed  her  and  went  in.  The  room  was  fur- 
nished as  a  dining-room.  Chairs  were  set  stiffly  round 
a  red  mahogany  table.  Two  bookcases  stood  one  on 
each  side  of  the  fireplace.  They  were  glass  fronted 
and  contained  some  theological  books.  Over  the  chim- 
neypiece  was  a  large  engraving  representing  St.  Peter's 
in  Rome.  There  was  one  armchair  in  the  room,  leather 
covered  and  not  very  comfortable.  On  it  sat  Father 
Maguire,  crouching  forward  towards  the  fire.  Behind 
him  was  a  pillow,  taken  from  a  bed,  which  supported 
his  back.  He  had  a  grey  muffler  round  his  neck  and 
a  pair  of  carpet  slippers  on  his  feet.  He  was  a  very 
old  man.     His  skin  was  waxy  and  transparent. 

"  This  is  Captain  Bryan,"  said  Lord  Athowen, 
''Mrs.  Bryan's  son.     I  am  Lord  Athowen." 

"  I  know  you,  I  know  you,"  said  Father  Maguire. 
"  And  I  know  the  captain  too.  And  I'm  glad  to  see 
you,    both    of    you,    though   it's   a    bad    day   you've 


come." 


"  I'm  afraid  it  is,"  said  Lord  Athowen.  "  Things 
are  worse  than  I  feared.  We  hoped  that  you'd  per- 
haps help  us  to  think  of  something.  There  must  be 
something  we  can  do  to  put  a  stop  to  this  miserable 
business.     The  consequences " 

"The  consequences!"  said  Father  Maguire. 
"  That's  what  I'm  thinking  of.  The  boys  of  my  own 
parish!  What's  to  happen  them?  But  what  can  I 
do?" 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  193 

"We  thought,"  said  Lord  Athowen,  "that  if  you'd 
use  your  authority " 

"  Tell  them  straight,"  said  Tom,  "  that  they're  mak- 
ing fools  of  themselves  and  there  can  only  be  one  end 
to  it." 

"  What's  that  you  say,  young  man?  "  said  the  pries^ 
"Tell  them  straight!  Haven't  I  told  them  straight, 
time  and  again?  Amn't  I  always  telling  them  that  the 
way  they're  going  on  is  a  sin  and  that's  worse  than 
foolishness.  I^s  a  sin  against  God  and  against  the 
Holy  Church  to  be  taking  up  arms  in  rebellion.  I 
told  them  and  they  won't  listen  to  me.  What  more 
can  I  do  only  pray  for  them  ?  " 

"  Surely  they'll  listen  to  you,"  said  Lord  Athowen, 
"  you're  their  priest." 

"  Am  I  the  only  priest  there  is  ?  Aren't  there  others  ? 
Tell  me  that.  There  are  young  men  coming  out  of 
Maynooth  every  year  and  scattered  through  the  length 
and  breadth  of  Ireland  teaching  the  contrary  of  what 
I  and  the  likes  of  me  taught.  I'm  an  old  man.  Fni 
not  fit  to  contend  with  them.  And  the  people,  the 
young  ones  among  them,  would  rather  listen  to  the 
curate  than  to  me.  They'll  be  said  by  him  because  he 
bids  them  go  the  way  they  want  to  go.     It  isn't  as  if 

I  wasn't  a  friend  of  the  poor,  and God  forgive 

me  for  boasting,  but  I  gave  the  best  that  was  in  me 
to  the  cause  of  the  people  when  they  were  out  against 
the  landlords  and  had  right  on  their  side.  But  what 
way  is  this  to  be  talking  to  you,  Lord  Athowen?  In 
the  old  days  you  and  I  were  on  different  sides." 

"  We're  on  the  same  side  now,"  said  Lord  Athowen. 


194  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

"  You  want  to  save  your  young  men  from  being  shot 
or  hansfed " 


"  I  want  to  save  them  from  sin,"  said  Father  Ma- 
guire. 

"  And  I  want  to  save  Miss  Conolly/'  said  Lord 
Athowen. 

"  Miss  Conolly !  Yes,  I  heard  she  was  at  the  head 
of  them.  Well  now,  you're  surprised  that  the  boys 
of  my  parish  won't  listen  to  me.  But  what  wonder  is 
it  when  the  girls  of  your  own  houses  won't  listen  to 
you?  But  that's  the  way  of  the  world.  We  grow  old 
and  we  are  forgot.  We  grow  old.  We  learn  a  little 
wisdom  and  a  little  patience  and  we  get  to  see  the 
meaning  of  the  law  of  God.  But  we're  old  men  before 
we  do,  and  the  young  men  think  they  know  better  and 
we  are  forgot.  That's  the  way  of  it.  Many's  the  time 
I've  said  foolish  things,  ay,  and  wrong  things  when 
I  was  young,  not  knowing.  They  listened  to  me  then, 
but  they'll  not  listen  to  me  now." 

He  muttered  on,  more  to  himself  than  to  his  visitors. 
Gradually  his  words  became  inaudible.  Tom  and  Lord 
Athowen  rose  from  the  chairs  on  which  they  had  sat. 
The  old  priest  became  suddenly  alert. 

"  And  what's  the  matter  with  you.  Captain,"  he 
said,  "that  you're  walking  lame  on  two  sticks?" 

"Wounded,"    said    Tom.       "Hit    in    the    leg. 
Shrapnel." 

"  I  heard  that,"  said  the  priest.  "  I  call  to  mind 
now  that  I  heard  that.  You  went  out  to  the  war  and 
you  were  wounded.  More  wickedness.  Sin  and 
bloodshed  and  lust  and  blasphemy.    The  world's  full 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  195 

of  them.  There's  not  a  corner  left  in  it  anywhere,  not 
in  Ireland  itself,  where  an  old  man  can  say  his 
prayers  in  peace  and  make  his  sould  before  he  goes." 

Again  his  voice  sank  to  a  low  murmur.  He  ceased 
to  be  conscious  of  the  presence  of  his  visitors.  He 
stared  with  eyes  which  did  not  see  into  the  fire  in  front 
of  him.  He  stretched  out  thin  quivering  hands  to  the 
heat  of  it. 

Lord  Athowen  signed  to  Tom  and  they  left  the 
room  together  without  saying  good-bye.  In  the  passage 
outside  they  met  the  housekeeper.  There  were  tears 
in  the  woman's  eyes. 

"  You  see  the  way  he  is,"  she  said.  "  Him  that's  a 
holy  man  and  worth  all  the  rest  of  the  town  and  all  the 
curates  in  Ireland.  Worth  them  all  and  more,  and 
that's  what  they've  done  to  him  with  their  Sinn  Fein 
and  their  blackguardism." 

Lord  Athowen  and  Tom  passed  through  the  gro- 
tesquely painted  gates  and  into  the  street  again. 

**  I'm  sorry  for  the  old  man,"  said  Lord  Athowen. 
*'  This  business  has  broken  his  heart.  Well,  in  a  way 
it's  his  own  fault.  Any  man  who  takes  Ireland  seri- 
ously will  end  with  a  broken  heart,  either  that  or  in  an 
asylum  with  a  cracked  head.  Don't  you  ever  be 
serious  about  Ireland,  Tom." 

"  I  don't  care  a  damn  about  Ireland,"  said  Tom, 
"  but  I  want  to  do  something  to  get  Mona  out  of  this 
scrape.  That  seems  to  me  serious  enough.  Father 
Maguire  isn't  going  to  be  the  slightest  use  to  us.  Sup- 
pose we  try  the  curate,  Roche,  that's  his  name." 

"  He's  a  red-hot  Sinn  Feiner,"  said  Lord  Athowen. 


196  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

"That's  what  your  mother  said  and  the  old  priest 
hinted  at  the  same  thing." 

"  Still  he  must  have  some  glimmerings  of  common 

sense.    He  must  see Damn  it,  there  can  only  be 

one  end  to  it  all.  But  if  he'd  tell  the  people  to  go 
quietly  home  now  before  any  real  mischief  was  done, 
and  if  we  got  at  Uncle  Ulick  and  made  him  use  his 
influence  we  might  hush  the  whole  thing  up.'* 

''  Not  much  use,"  said  Lord  Athowen.  "  You  heard 
what  the  old  priest  said  about  these  curates.  They  bid 
the  people  go  the  way  they  want  to  go.  They're 
obeyed  as  long  as  they  do  that.  They'd  not  be  obeyed 
for  an  hour  if  they  went  against  the  people.  And  I 
fancy  they  know  it,  Tom,  I  fancy  they  know  it." 

They  reached  the  gates  of  Dunally  House  as  they 
spoke.  Mona  had  posted  a  fresh  proclamation  on  them 
since  morning. 

"Traitors  to  the  cause  of  the  Irish  Republic  will 
be  arrested  and  punished.  This  applies  to  all  classes 
of  the  community.'* 

"See  that,  Tom?"  said  Lord  Athowen.  "You 
and  I  have  got  to  be  careful.  I  don't  know  what 
your  feelings  are  with  regard  to  the  Irish  Repub- 
lic  " 

"  It's  damned  idiocy,"  said  Tom. 

"  Well,  I  advise  you  not  to  say  so  out  loud,"  said 
Lord  Athowen. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A  T  five  o'clock  the  party  in  Dunally  House  gath- 
A\  ered  in  the  hall  for  tea.  Two  tables  stood  at 
one  side  of  a  great  wood  fire.  Mrs.  Bryan  sat 
at  one  of  them,  her  fine,  shining  silver  and  dainty  old 
china  in  front  of  her.  On  the  other  table  were  cakes, 
several  cakes,  for  war  economy  was  almost  unknown 
in  rural  Ireland,  a  dish  of  hot  muffins,  much  bread  and 
butter,  and  a  pot  of  raspberry  jam. 

Tom,  standing  in  front  of  the  fire,  eyed  the  scene 
with  satisfaction. 

"  The  beleaguered  garrison  eats  its  last  meal  be- 
fore a  sally,"  he  said.  *'  Subject  for  an  Academy 
picture." 

"  *  And  still  on  the  topmost  tower,'  "  said  Lord  Ath- 
owen,  "*the  banner  of  England  blew.'  That's  a 
quotation,  Caroline.  I  know  there  isn't  a  banner  really, 
or  for  that  matter  a  tower." 

**  It'll  not  be  our  last  meal  either,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan. 
"  By  the  luck  of  the  world  I  got  in  a  bag  of  flour  yes- 
terday. There's  a  flock  of  turkeys  in  the  yard  and  I've 
two  hams  along  with  a  side  of  bacon  hanging  in  the 
kitchen.  Whatever  else  happens  to  us  we  shan't 
starve." 

Tom  helped  himself  to  a  slice  of  cake  and  munched 
it. 

197 


198  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

"We  really  are  besieged,"  he  said,  "more  or  less. 
Of  course  we  can  go  out  into  the  town;  but  it's  in- 
fernally unpleasant/* 

"  They  scowl  at  us,"  said  Lord  Athowen,  "  and  at 
any  moment  they  might  throw  stones.  I  think  we 
ought  to  petition  Mona  for  protection.  A  guard  of 
honour,  or  even  a  few  of  her  policemen.  I  suppose 
the  Irish  Republic  has  policemen.  Or  have  they  been 
abolished?" 

"  I  sent  a  note  to  Mona  asking  her  to  tea,"  said  Mrs. 
Bryan,  "  but  I  don't  expect  she'll  come.  Ashamed  to 
show  her  face  here,  I  should  think,  and  quite  right.  I 
sent  the  note  by  that  ridiculous  boy  who  is  parading 
about  outside  the  door  with  an  old  gun.  He  said  he'd 
deliver  it,  but  perhaps  he  didn't.  T  shan't  wait,  any- 
how." 

She  began  to  pour  out  tea  as  she  spoke.  The  butler 
came  into  the  room  while  she  was  putting  cream  into 
the  cups.    Mrs.  Bryan  looked  up. 

"  We  didn't  ring,"  she  said. 

"  Beg  pardon,  ma'am,"  said  the  servant,  "  but  I 
thought  it  right  to  let  you  know  that  there's  somebody 
outside  the  window  of  the  servants'  hall  tapping  on  the 
glass,  ma'am.  I  didn't  feel  justified  in  opening  the 
window  without  permission,  under  the  circumstances, 


ma'am." 


"  Perhaps  I'd  better  go  and  see  who  it  is,"  said 
Lord  Athowen. 

"  You  sit  still.  Lord  Athowen,"  said  Tom.  "  Let 
me  go.  It  may  be  a  message  of  some  sort  from  old 
Maillia." 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  199 

"Shall  I  get  you  your  revolver,  sir?"  said  the 
butler.     "  You'll  take  it  with  you." 

**  You'll  take  no  such  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan. 
**  Revolvers  always  go  off  just  when  they're  not 
wanted  to." 

Tom  hobbled  across  the  hall  and  through  the  baize- 
covered  door  w^hich  led  to  the  servants'  quarters. 

"  It  may  be  Mona  herself,"  said  Lord  Athowen. 
**  By  this  time  she's  probably  beginning  to  feel  a  bit 
exhausted  by  the  cares  of  state.  Managing  infant 
republics  must  be  hard  work,  and  I  dare  say  her  com- 
missariat department  isn't  organized  to  the  point  of 
afternoon  tea.    She  may  want  a  cup." 

"  If  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan,  "  I'll  tell  her  exactly 
what  I  think  of  her  in  the  plainest  language." 

Ten  minutes  later  Tom  appeared  again. 

'Tt's  old  Maillia  himself,"  he  said.  "  I  had  rather 
a  job  getting  him  through  the  window.  It's  a  bit 
narrow,  and  he's  not  exactly  a  slim  man.  But  he 
wouldn't  go  round  by  the  door,  said  it  wasn't 
safe." 

"  The  day  of  liberty  has  dawned  for  Ireland,"  said 
Lord  Athowen.     "  See  Mona's  proclamation." 

Tom  turned  and  beckoned  to  the  man  behind  him. 

*'Come  in,  MailHa,"  he  said.  "Don't  stand  there 
in  the  passage.  Come  in.  The  shutters  are  closed  and 
the  curtains  drawn.  Nobody  from  outside  can  possibly 
see  you." 

Maillia  came  as  far  as  the  threshold  of  the  door 
and  stood  there  holding  his  hat  in  his  hand. 

"  Good  evening,  Maillia,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.    "  This 


200  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

is  fine  work  that  you're  at.  I  thought  you'd  more 
sense  than  to  do  this  sort  of  thing." 

"  And  so  I  have  more  sense,"  said  MailUa.  "  You're 
right  there." 

"  Then  what  are  you  doing  it  for  ? "  said  Mrs. 
Bryan. 

"  Believe  me  or  not,  my  lady,"  said  Maillia.  In 
speaking  to  Mrs.  Bryan  he  usually  gave  her  this  cour- 
tesy title.  ''  Believe  me  or  not,  my  lady,"  he  repeated, 
advancing  a  little  into  the  hall. 

"  I  shan't  believe  a  word  you  say,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan. 
*'  I  never  do.    You  ought  to  know  that  by  this  time." 

Maillia  grinned  and  sidled  a  little  nearer  the  tea 
table. 

"  Go  on,"  said  Lord  Athowen.  "  Go  on  with  what 
you  were  going  to  say.  I'll  believe  you  if  I  possibly 
can.     I'll  try  anyhow." 

"  Believe  me  or  not,  my  lord,"  said  Maillia,  "  it's 
the  truth  I'm  telling  you.  There's  not  a  man  in  the 
town  hates  this  work  worse  than  I  do." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  put  a  stop  to  it  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Bryan.  '*  Aren't  you  the  head  of  every  dirty  League 
there  is  or  ever  has  been  ?  Haven't  you  always  bossed 
the  politics  of  Dunally?" 

"  Politics !  "  said  Maillia.  "  The  Lord  save  us !  Do 
you  call  this  politics  ?  " 

"  If  an  Irish  Republic  isn't  politics,"  said  Mrs. 
Bryan,  "what  is  it?" 

Maillia  took  another  step  or  two  forward.  He  stood 
in  the  middle  of  the  hall.  He  began  to  speak  as  if  he 
were  addressing  a  public  meeting. 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  201 

"  Vm  in  favour  of  politics,"  he  said,  "  and  always 
was.  And  I've  done  my  best  for  politics  since  the  days 
of  Parnell  and  I'm  not  ashamed  of  it.  Politics  is  what 
has  put  money  into  the  pockets  of  the  people  of  Ire- 
land.    But  this  work " 

He  cleared  his  throat  noisily. 

"Don't  spit  on  the  carpet,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan. 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  of  spitting,"  said  Maillia. 
"  Would  I  do  the  like  in  your  ladyship's  house?  What 
I  was  meaning  to  say  was  this :  Do  you  call  it  politics 
to  shut  up  every  public  house  in  the  town  from  morn- 
ing till  night?  Is  that  politics?  English  rule  in  this 
country  is  bad  enough,  God  knows,  and  I'm  against  it 
first  and  last.  But  I  tell  you  this :  "  he  sank  his  voice 
to  a  whisper.  "  Bad  and  all  as  the  English  are  they 
never  did  that  to  us." 

"  Even  the  Orangemen,"  said  Lord  Athowen,  *'  like 
a  drink  occasionally.     So  I'm  told." 

"  It's  damned  hard  luck,"  said  Tom,  "  and  if  you 
want  a  drink  I'll  have  in  a  bottle  of  whisky  at  once." 

Maillia  waved  the  suggestion  aside. 

"  It  isn't  the  drop  I'd  take  myself  that  I'd  care 
about,"  he  said.  "  If  I  never  touched  whisky  from  one 
year's  end  to  another  I  wouldn't  mind." 

"  Come  now,  Maillia,"  said  Lord  Athowen.  "  I 
said  I'd  believe  you  if  I  possibly  could.  Don't  try  me 
too  high." 

"  I  suppose  it's  not  being  able  to  sell  the  stuff  to  the 
people  that  troubles  you,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  Well, 
let  me  tell  you  this,  Maillia.  I'm  not  much  in  love 
with  the  Irish  Republic,  but  if  it  stops  you  poisoning 


202  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

the  town  of  Dunally  every  market  day  it'll  be  no  bad 
thing." 

"  Your  ladyship,"  said  Maillia,  *'  was  always  a  great 
one  for  a  joke." 

"Not  that  I'm  against  whisky,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan. 
"  I've  always  said  that  the  only  way  to  keep  Ireland 
quiet  is  to  let  the  people  have  plenty  of  whisky.  But 
it  ought  to  be  good  stuff — not  what  you  sell,  Maillia." 

"  There's  no  use  arguing  about  whisky,"  said  Tom. 
"  What  we  want  to  get  at,  Maillia,  is  whether  you're 
going  to  help  us.  We  want  to  put  a  stop  to  all  this 
nonsense  that's  going  on  and  we  don't  want  to  see  Miss 
Conolly  tried  for  her  life  afterwards.  I  don't  suppose 
you  want  to  see  your  own  son  shot." 

"  It'll  serve  him  right  if  he  is  shot,"  said  Maillia. 
"  I  was  always  too  kind  to  that  boy,  so  I  was.  If  I'd 
skelped  the  life  out  of  him  when  he  was  small  he 
wouldn't  be  where  he  is  now,  loosing  the  devil  on 
us." 

"  Our  idea,"  said  Lord  Athowen,  "  is  to  get  a  letter 
through  to  Dublin,  to  Sir  Ulick  Conolly,  Miss  Con- 
olly's  father.  If  any  one  can  get  us  out  of  the  trouble 
we're  in,  he  can.  Now  the  question  is,  can  you  get 
the  letter  sent  for  us?" 

"  It  might  be  done,"  said  Maillia.  "  I'm  not  saying 
but  it  might  be  done,  if  we  went  the  right  way  about 
it." 

"  How  ?  "  said  Lord  Athowen. 

"  There's  a  young  fellow  of  the  name  of  Battaney," 
said  Maillia. 

"  I  know,"  said  Lord  Athowen.    '*  He's  a  journalist. 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  203 

But  how  does  he  come  to  be  mixed  up  in  this  business? 
Can  you  tell  us  who  and  what  he  is?  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  ought  to  be  telling  you  that," 
said  Maillia.  "  The  Captain  here,"  he  nodded  towards 
Tom,  "  might  be  hard  on  the  young  man  if  he  knew, 
and  when  all's  said  and  done,  there's  many  a  one  would 
rather  run  away  than  fight." 

''A  deserter,  is  he?"  said  Mrs.  Bryan. 
"I  don't  say  he  is,"  said  Maillia,  "nor  I  don't  say 
he  isn't.    Your  ladyship  can  call  him  that  if  it  pleases 
you." 

"  I  don't  care  a  damn  whether  he's  a  deserter  or 
not,"  said  Tom.  **  The  question  is,  will  he  take  a 
letter  for  us?  " 

"  There's  talk,"  said  Maillia,  "  of  sending  him  off 
to  Dublin  to-night  with  what's  called  dispatches,  letters 
that  has  to  be  took  to  a  man  of  the  name  of  Patterson. 
I  suppose  now  you  know  that  they've  taken  your  lady- 
ship's motor  car? " 

"  I  did  not  know  it,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan,  "  but  I'm 
not  in  the  least  surprised.  It's  just  the  sort  of  thing 
they  would  do." 

"  It's  in  it  he's  to  go,"  said  Maillia.  "  And  there's 
a  young  fellow  of  the  name  of  Donoghue  that  says 
he  was  shover  one  time  and  he's  to  drive.  Whether 
he  can  drive  or  not  is  more  than  I  can  say.  Any  way 
they're  to  start  about  eleven  or  twelve  o'clock,  so  that 
the  police  won't  be  asking  questions  in  the  places  they 
go  through." 

"  I  suppose  you're  supplying  the  petrol?  "  said  Mrs. 
Bryan. 


((  r* 


204  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

"  I  am,"  said  Maillia.  "  But  I  don't  know  will  I 
be  paid  for  it." 

"  And  you  think  Bettany  will  take  a  letter  to  Sir 
Ulick?"  said  Tom. 

"  It*s  my  belief,"  said  Maillia,  "  that  young  fellow 
would  take  a  letter  to  the  devil  himself  if  he  thought 
it  would  help  him  to  keep  a  whole  skin  on  his  own 
body." 

From  the  little  I've  seen  of  him,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan, 
Fm  inclined  to  think  you're  right  there." 

"If  we  give  you  a  letter,"  said  Lord  Athowcn, 
"  will  you  hand  it  over  to  Bettany  ?  " 

"  It  might  be  better,"  said  Maillia,  "  if  you  was  to 
speak  to  the  young  fellow  yourself." 

"  It  would,"  said  Tom.  "  But  how  the  devil  can 
we  when  he  runs  away  if  he  sees  one  of  us  in  the 
street?" 

"  And  Tve  reason  to  believe,"  said  Maillia,  "  that 
he'd  be  glad  enough  of  the  chance  of  speaking  to  his 
Lordship  or  the  Captain." 

"He  takes  a  queer  way  of  showing  it,  then,"  said 
Tom. 

"  Sure  he  can't  help  that,"  said  Maillia.  "  Wasn't 
I  hard  put  to  it  this  morning  myself  when  you  came 
up  to  my  shop  ?  " 

"  Would  he  come  round  here,"  said  Lord  Athowen, 
"and  see  us  before  he  starts." 

"There's  only  one  way  he  could  do  that,"  said 
Maillia. 

"  You  did  it,  so  why  can't  he?  "  said  Tom. 

"That's  what  I'm  saying.  Captain,"  said  Maillia. 


.UP,  THE  REBELS!  205 

"  There's  a  way  round  by  the  back  of  the  cowshed  in 
the  big  yard  that  takes  you  past  the  end  of  the  hayrick 
to  the  window  that  the  Captain  pulled  me  through. 
The  way  they  have  the  house  watched  I  doubt  if  any 
one  could  get  in  only  that  way.  But  it  would  be  as 
well,  Captain,  if  you'd  be  at  that  window  yourself  at 
ten  o'clock  and  not  be  leaving  it  to  servants.  The 
way  it  is  with  that  young  fellow  at  the  present  time 
is  that  the  fewer  people  know  about  him  coming  here 
the  better  he'll  be  pleased." 

"  I  just  thought  he  was  in  a  bit  of  a  funk  last  night," 
said  Tom. 

**  He's  bound  to  be  a  coward  if  he's  a  deserter,"  said 
Mrs.  Bryan. 

"  It's  your  ladyship  said  that  of  him,  not  me,"  said 
Maillia,  "  and  I'm  not  sure  is  he  a  deserter.  It's  only 
what  I  heard  them  saying  that  he  ran  away  from  Eng- 
land the  way  he  wouldn't  have  to  fight,  and  that's  how 
he  came  to  be  so  thick  with  Miss  ConoUy." 

"  He  wants  to  run  away  from  her  now,"  said  Lord 
Athowen, 

"I'd  forgive  Mona  anything,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan. 
"  I  wouldn't  mind  a  republic.  Don't  scowl  at  me  now, 
Tom.  I'd  forgive  her  the  republic  and  stealing  my 
motor.  I'd  forgive  her  spoiling  the  hunt  to-day  if 
only  she'd  associate  with  decent  people." 

"  Maybe  now,"  said  Maillia,  "  I'd  better  be  going 
before  more  is  said." 

There  was  a  pleasant  twinkle  in  his  little  eyes  as  he 
spoke.    Mrs.  Bryan  saw  it. 

"  Well,  you  can't  call  yourself  a  nice  friend  for  a 


2o6  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

young  lady,  can  you,  Maillia?  But  I'd  rather  see  her 
running  about  the  country  with  you  than  with  a  crea- 
ture Hke  that  Bettany." 

''  Captain,"  said  MailHa,  "  I'll  have  to  trouble  you 
to  give  me  a  hand  getting  out  of  that  window.  I'm 
a  middling  stout  man,  and  whether  I'm  decent  or  not 
I'd  be  sorry  to  break  the  window." 

"  Well,"  said  Lord  Athowen  w^hen  Maillia  had  left 
the  room.  "  We've  got  that  settled.  But  I  don't  ex- 
pect Ulick  will  be  able  to  do  much.  After  all,  what 
can  any  one  do?" 

"Toodles  will  do  nothing,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan. 
"  Toodles  never  does  anything.  That's  why  he's  got 
the  job  he  has,  governing  Ireland.  But  if  we  can  get 
him  down  here  I'll  shift  the  responsibility  for  that 
girl's  vagaries  on  to  his  shoulders.  It'll  be  his  affair 
afterwards  if  she  gets  hanged." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Lord  Athowen,  "  whether  I  ought 
to  send  some  sort  of  report  up  to  the  military  authori- 
ties in  Dublin.  They  ought  to  be  told  what's  going  on 
here." 

"  They'll  know  quite  soon  enough,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan, 
"  without  your  telling  them.  There's  no  point  in 
dragging  them  into  the  business  before  they  come  of 
themselves.  They'd  begin  shooting  people  at  once, 
which  is  what  we  don't  want.  They'd  spoil  our  last 
chance  of  hushing  the  thing  up  and  getting  Mona  safe 
out.  Not  that  I'll  feel  the  smallest  pity  for  Mona  if 
she  is  shot." 

"Very  well,"  said  Lord  Athowen.  "And  any  way 
I  don't  expect  Bettany  would  take  a  letter  of  the  kind. 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  207 

The  last  thing  he'd  be  likely  to  do  would  be  to  go  near 
any  military  authorities,  if  what  Maillia  says  is  true 
about  his  being  a  deserter." 

At  a  quarter  to  ten  Tom  took  possession  of  the 
servants'  hall,  turning  out  two  housemaids.  The 
younger  of  the  two,  who  was  practising  dance  music 
on  a  melodeon,  was  indignant.  The  other  lurked  about 
near  the  door,  filled  with  curiosity,  until  Tom  ordered 
her  away.  In  the  end  he  locked  up  the  whole  stafif  in 
the  kitchen.  He  was  very  much  afraid  that  Bettany 
might  take  fright  at  the  last  moment. 

At  ten  o'clock  there  was  a  tap  at  the  window.  Tom 
opened  it.  He  could  not  see  very  well  who  was  out- 
side, but  he  recognized  Maillia's  voice. 

"  I  have  him,  Captain.  I  have  him  here  right 
enough;  but  it's  trouble  I  had  bringing  him  along. 
He's  terrible  timid,  so  he  is.  And  when  a  rat  ran  out 
of  the  rick  under  his  feet  I  thought  he'd  get  away 


on  me." 


Bettany's  voice  came  next. 

"  Let  me  in,"  he  said.  "  Get  out  of  the  way  and 
let  me  in.  Don't  you  know  that  I'm  running  a  fright- 
ful risk,  standing  here?" 

"  Come  along,  then,"  said  Tom.  **  Are  you  com- 
ing, Maillia?" 

"  I  am  not,"  said  Maillia.  "  Once  in  the  day  is 
enough  for  me  to  get  through  that  window.  I'll  wait 
here  till  you've  done  with  him  and  then  I'll  take  him 
to  the  Court  House  and  put  him  into  the  motor  car." 

Bettany  slipped  through  the  open  window  and  fol- 
lowed Tom  into  the  smoking-room. 


2o8  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

"  What  we  want  you  to  do/'  said  Lord  Athowen, 

"  is  this " 

"  Give  the  man  a  drink,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  ''  He's 
shaking  like  a  leaf.  He  won't  understand  a  word  you 
say  to  him  unless  you  pull  him  together  with  a  glass 
of  whisky." 

"  My  nerves,"  said  Bettany.  "  Ever  since  I  was 
a  child  I've  been  very  highly  strung.  Anything  in 
the  way  of  physical  violence  or  the  threat  of  it  affects 
me  painfully." 

"You  came  to  the  wrong  country,  then,  when  you 
came  to  Ireland,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan. 
"  Here,"  said  Tom.  ''  Drink  this." 
He  handed  Bettany  a  glass  of  whisky  and  soda. 
The  mixture,  even  allowing  for  the  feebleness  of  war 
whisky,  was  a  strong  one.  Bettany  drank  it  without 
a  gasp. 

"Now,"   said  Lord  Athowen.      "Here's  a  letter. 
You're  to  deliver  it  to  Sir  Ulick  Conolly  in  his  private 
house  if  you  can.    Do  you  know  where  that  is?" 
"  Yes.     Yes.     I  know,"  said  Bettany. 
"  If  you  have  to  go  to  his  office  to  find  him,"  said 
Lord  Athowen,  "  insist  on  seeing  him  personally." 

"Don't  give  it  to  that  Murphy  girl,"  said  Tom. 
"  She'd  burn  it.  I  never  was  more  deceived  in  a  girl 
in  my  life." 

"  Deliver  it  as  soon  as  you  can,"  said  Lord  Athowen. 
"  If  you  start  at  eleven  you  ought  to  be  in  Dublin  by 
five  or  six  to-morrow  morning.  I  suppose  you'll  have 
to  hand  over  Mona's  dispatches  first;  but  as  soon  as 
you  can  get  away,  go  to  Sir  Ulick." 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  209 

"And  come  back  in  my  car,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  I 
don't  want  to  lose  it  altogether." 

"  I'm  never  coming  back,"  said  Bettany.  "  Back 
here!  Do  you  think  I'm  mad,  as  mad  as  all  the  rest 
of  you?    If  I  get  safe  out  of  this " 

''  If  the  letter  isn't  delivered,"  said  Tom,  "  I'll  set 
the  police  on  you  and  have  you  handed  over  to  the 
military  as  a  deserter." 

Bettany  pulled  himself  together  suddenly  and  as- 
serted himself. 

"  I'm  doing  you  a  service,"  he  said.  "  I  needn't  do 
it  unless  I  choose.  I  don't  think  I  ought  to  be  insulted. 
I'm  risking  my  life  to  save  this  town  and  a  lot  of  mis- 
guided young  people  from  the  horrors  of  bloodshed. 
I'm  acting  on  principle.  I've  been  a  consistent  Pacifist 
since  long  before  this  damned  war  began  and  set  the 
whole  world  mad." 

"Oh,  shut  it,"  said  Tom.  "We  know  all  about 
your  principles.'* 

"  Good  night,"  said  Bettany.  "  Some  day  when  the 
world  is  sane  again  you'll  understand  me." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

SHORTLY  after  ten  o'clock  next  morning  an  aero- 
plane flew  over  Dunally.  The  morning  was  clear 
and  calm.  The  noise  of  the  engine  was  plainly 
heard  some  minutes  before  the  machine  appeared,  fly- 
ing low  across  the  hills  to  the  south  of  the  town.  The 
people  came  out  of  the  houses  and  stood  in  groups, 
staring  at  the  sky.  The  machine  circled  widely,  scour- 
ing the  hills  to  the  north  and  west.  A  council  meeting 
of  officers  was  hastily  summoned.  Father  Roche  was 
seen  hurrying  along  the  street.  Peter  Maillia  came 
out  of  his  father's  shop  and  ran  towards  the  Court 
House,  fumbling  with  the  buttons  and  straps  of  his 
uniform  as  he  went.  Old  Maillia,  fat  and  sulky-look- 
ing, followed  his  son.  Other  officers  were  seen  making 
for  Headquarters.  A  murmur  went  through  the  town. 
The  word  "  bombs  "  passed  from  lips  to  ears,  whis- 
pered and  spoken.  There  was  a  movement  of  the 
people  towards  their  houses.  The  aeroplane  turned 
sharply  and  flew  straight  over  the  town.  The  pilot 
slowed  his  engine  and  slid  down  a  long  slant,  till  he 
was  no  more  than  loo  feet  above  the  Court  House. 
He  rose  again,  flew  over  the  principal  street,  along 
the  whole  length  of  it,  tilted  his  machine  till  the  wings 
were  at  a  sharp  angle  with  the  ground,  swept  round 
and  flew  in  narrowing  circles  above  the  town.     For 

2IO 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  211 

ten  minutes  or  more  he  gave  a  display  of  flying  tricks. 
Then  the  noise  of  the  engine  suddenly  increased.  A 
jet  of  pale  smoke  shot  out  from  the  tail  of  the  ma- 
chine.   He  flew  away  at  high  speed  and  disappeared. 

He  made  a  report  to  some  one,  somewhere;  but  he 
had  very  little  to  tell.  The  town  when  he  saw  it  was 
quiet  and  orderly.  There  were  no  signs  of  rioting 
or  pillage.  No  houses  were  burned  or  wrecked.  Ex- 
cept that  Sinn  Fein  flags  were  flying  everywhere  there 
was  nothing  to  report.  And  the  appearance  of  Sinn 
Fein  flags  is  no  unusual  thing  in  Irish  towns. 

What  the  airman  could  not  report  was  the  mood 
and  temper  of  the  people.  It  was  the  second  day  of 
life  under  an  Irish  Republic.  The  first  rapture  of 
excitement  had  passed.  The  older  people  were  begin- 
ning to  wonder,  a  little  anxiously,  what  would  happen 
next.  The  prohibition  of  the  sale  of  drink,  very 
strictly  enforced,  saved  the  town  from  disorder.  But 
it  also  induced  a  general  uneasiness.  The  appearance 
of  an  aeroplane,  admittedly  hostile,  turned  restless 
nervousness  into  restless  fear.  No  one  said  so,  but 
many  people  wished  that  the  Irish  Republic  had  chosen 
some  other  town,  not  Dunally,  for  its  first  capital. 

The  general  uneasiness  of  the  civil  population  af- 
fected the  soldiers  of  the  Republican  army.  The  men, 
once  the  aeroplane  had  disappeared,  drilled  with  extra- 
ordinary vigour  in  the  square  in  front  of  the  Court 
House.  The  officers  of  the  various  companies  called 
the  roll  of  their  men  frequently  during  the  morning. 
There  was  a  suspicious  watchfulness.  If  a  man  failed 
to  answer  to  his  name,  swift  search  was  made  for  him. 


212  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

The  men  held  together.  There  were  no  desertions. 
But  a  feeling  of  distrust  existed.  No  one  was  quite 
sure  of  his  neighbour. 

The  leaders  felt  the  strain  of  anxious  waiting. 
Mona,  sitting  in  the  Court  House,  held  consultations 
with  Father  Roche,  with  Peter  Maillia  and  occasion- 
ally with  old  Maillia.  She  was  calm  and  collected  but 
she  issued  during  the  morning  ten  proclamations.  An 
orderly  was  kept  busy  posting  them  on  the  gates,  blank 
walls  and  notice  boards  of  the  town.  Peter  Maillia 
became  more  and  more  rigidly  military  in  bearing  and 
speech.  He  marched  in  and  out  of  the  Court  House 
with  quick  short  steps.  He  stamped  hard  with  one 
or  other  foot  every  time  he  halted.  He  saluted  and 
returned  salutes  with  very  jerky  motions  of  his  hands 
and  arms.  His  words,  when  he  spoke,  were  no  longer 
soft  blurs  of  sound.  They  were  explosive,  staccato 
shouts,  not  unlike  the  back-firing  of  small  motor 
engines.  His  father  became  heavily  jocose  and  almost 
unintelligible  as  the  morning  went  on.  The  prohibi- 
tion of  the  sale  of  intoxicants  did  not  affect  a  man 
who  could  draw  whisky  from  his  private  store.  Father 
Roche,  always  a  man  of  dominating  spirit,  became 
truculent.  He  contradicted  Mona  several  times.  He 
tramped  up  and  down  the  street  and  frightened  chil- 
dren by  shouting  at  them.  He  allowed  no  woman  or 
girl  to  remain  long  out  of  doors,  ordering  them  back 
to  their  kitchens  and  washtubs  with  offensive  fierce- 
ness. 

In  the  course  of  one  of  his  tramps  he  came  across 
Lx)rd  Athowen  and  Tom  Bryan.    They  were  standing 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  213 

near  the  Court  House  watching  the  men  drilling. 
Father  Roche  stopped  in  front  of  them  and  glared. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  he  said. 

*'  Admiring  your  men  drilling,"  said  Lord  Athowen. 
"If  they  had  only  a  few  more  guns  among  them  they 
might  put  up  a  fight  against — shall  we  say  a  small 
body  of  police?  " 

"  You're  spying,"  said  Father  Roche,  "  and  spies  are 
liable  to  be  shot.     Remember  that." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Tom,  "  we'd  better  hobble  away." 

"  Hobble  home,"  said  Father  Roche,  "  and  take  your 
lame  leg  with  you.  It  would  have  served  you  right 
if  they'd  shot  it  off  altogether.  We  want  none  of  your 
sort  here.  Traitors  to  Ireland.  Soldiers  in  the  ene- 
my's army." 

Tom  smiled  pleasantly. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  to  say  that  sort  of  thing," 
said  Lord  Athowen.  "  But  tell  me — between  ourselves 
and  just  to  satisfy  my  curiosity — do  you  really  believe 
it?" 

"  Go  home,"  said  Father  Roche.  "  Do  you  hear  me 
now?  Go  home  at  once.  And  you  can  tell  Mrs. 
Bryan  that  the  grand  house  she  lives  in  won't  be  hers 
for  long.  She  and  you  and  all  the  rest  of  you  will  be 
what  you  ought  to  have  been  long  ago,  beggars  on  the 
streets." 

"  Right-o,"  said  Tom.  "  So  long,  old  bean. 
Cheerio." 

If  he  could  have  thought  of  any  more  subaltern's 
slang  he  would  have  used  it.  But  he  was  slightly  an- 
noyed at  Father  Roche's  malevolence  and  was  not 


214  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

cool  enough  to  think  of  all  he  would  have  liked  to 
have  said. 

"  We  mustn't  be  too  hard  on  him,"  said  Lord  Atho- 
wen  as  they  walked  away.  "  He's  a  bit  rattled.  I 
don't  wonder.  It's  an  unpleasant  position  for  him. 
That  aeroplane  this  morning  was  a  shock,  no  doubt — 
kind  of  reminder  that  the  poor  old  British  Empire 
isn't  entirely  done  for.  I'm  sorry  for  the  fellow  in 
a  way." 

"  He  was  damned  insolent,"  said  Tom. 

"  Well,"  said  Lord  Athowen,  *'  it's  hard  to  blame 
him.  He's  probably  just  beginning  to  find  out  that 
he's  put  his  foot  in  it.    I  wonder  how  Mona's  feeling." 

At  three  o'clock  a  man  on  a  motor  cycle  appeared 
on  the  top  of  the  hill  to  the  south  of  the  town.  Lord 
Athowen,  standing  at  the  dining-room  window  of 
Dunally  House,  picked  him  out  with  a  pair  of  field 
glasses. 

"  He  has  dismounted,"  he  said.  "  He's  in  uni- 
form. I  think,  can't  be  quite  certain,  but  I  think  he's 
an  officer.  He's  doing  something  to  his  bicycle. 
There!  he's  mounted  again.  He  has  a  flag  of  sorts 
flying.     White,  I  think." 

"  I'm  off,"  said  Tom.    "  This  is  getting  thrilling." 

"  I  think  ril  stay  where  I  am,"  said  Lord  Athowen. 
"  I'm  not  keen  on  another  interview  with  that  priest. 
I  might  lose  my  temper  and  that  would  be  humiliat- 
ing, very  humiliating." 

Tom  took  his  sticks  and  limped  off  as  quickly  as 
he  could.  The  cyclist  officer,  riding  down  the  hill  at 
a  reckless  pace,  reached  the  bridge  at  the  bottom  of 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  215 

the  principal  street  of  the  town.  There  he  was  chal- 
lenged by  two  sentries.  He  dismounted  at  once,  and 
said  he  wished  to  see  the  leader  of  the  rebel  forces. 
The  sentries  drew  back,  leaving  him  in  the  middle  of 
the  bridge.  They  consulted  together  in  whispers. 
Then  one  of  them  went  away  towards  the  Court 
House.    The  other  spoke  civilly  enough  to  the  officer. 

"  I'm  after  sending  up  to  Headquarters  for  orders," 
he  said.    "  Will  you  stay  where  you  are  for  a  bit  ?  " 

The  officer  leaned  his  bicycle  against  the  wall  of  the 
bridge  and  lit  a  cigarette.  Tom  Bryan  reached  the 
end  of  the  bridge. 

"  Hullo,  Jackson,"  he  said,  "  didn't  expect  to  see 
you  here.  Last  time  we  met  was  in  Arras,  wasn't 
it?  The  night  you  gave  a  dinner? " 

"Bryan,  by  Jove!"  said  Jackson.  "Well.  I'm 
damned !  I  say,  you're  not  a  rebel,  are  you  ?  Excuse 
my  asking,  but  one  never  can  be  sure  with  you  Irish- 
men." 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,"  said  Tom,  "I'm  wounded 
and  missing.  The  Boche  got  me  in  the  leg  with  shrap- 
nel, and  now  the  Sinn  Feiners  have  me  a  prisoner  of 
war.    What's  your  stunt?  " 

"  Mobile  column,  cyclists,"  said  Jackson.  "  Got 
word  of  this  little  show  yesterday  afternoon.  Been 
on  the  trek  ever  since." 

"  All  on  your  lonesome !    You  deserve  a  V.C." 

"Lonesome!  Not  half.  Got  six  Stokes  mortars 
and  half  a  battery  of  field  guns  up  there."  He  pointed 
to  the  hills  behind  him.  "  I'm  here  to  tell  these  ducks 
they've  jolly  well  got  to  surrender  or  else  take  what's 


2i6  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

coming  to  them.  I  wouldn't  give  them  any  choice 
myself.  I'd  shoot  without  talking.  But  our  CO.  is 
a  soft-hearted  old  tgg  and  he's  got  a  notion  into  his 

head I  say,  Bryan,  it's  not  true  about  the  leader 

of  the  bally  rebels  being  a  girl,  is  it?  That's  what 
the  CO.  thinks,  a  pretty  girl." 

"  Quite  true,"  said  Tom. 

"And  a  lady?  We  heard  she's  a  lady;  but  that 
can't  be  true." 

"  She's  my  cousin,"  said  Tom. 

"  Great  Scott !  But  I  say  you're  pulling  my  leg, 
aren't  you  ?  " 

"  Daughter  of  my  uncle,"  said  Tom,  "  and  he's  Sir 
Ulick  Conolly.  Not  that  a  knighthood  means  much 
nowadays.  But  we  were  quite  a  respectable  family 
once." 

"Well,  that's  just  what  I  was  saying,"  said  Jack- 
son. "  One  never  can  tell  about  you  Irish.  I've  been 
here  six  weeks  now,  ever  since  I  got  out  of  hospital, 
and  I'm  damned  if  I  understand  Ireland  a  bit  better 
than  before  I  came." 

A  party  of  Volunteers  appeared  at  the  door  of  the 
Court  House.  They  formed  fours  and  marched 
towards  the  bridge.  Peter  Maillia  was  in  command. 
He  held  a  venomous-looking  revolver  in  his 
hand  by  way  of  emphasizing  the  solemnity  of  the 
occasion. 

"  Your  escort,  I  expect,"  said  Tom. 

"  Right-o,"  said  Jackson.  "  I  say,  Bryan,  come 
along  like  a  good  man  and  introduce  me  to  your  cousin. 
It's  a  bit  awkward  for  me  having  to  tell  a  pretty 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  217 

girl  that  we're  going  to  shoot  if  she  doesn't  say 
'  Kamerad.'  " 

''  They  wouldn't  let  me,"  said  Tom.  "  Didn't  I 
tell  you  that  I'm  a  prisoner  and  military  discipline  is 
frightfully  strict  in  Dunally." 

Peter  Maillia  halted  his  men  at  the  end  of  the 
bridge.  He  himself  advanced  towards  Jackson.  He 
put  his  revolver  into  his  pocket  and  took  out  a  large 
coloured  cotton  handkerchief. 

"  You  must  submit  to  be  blindfolded,"  he  said. 

''  Oh  rot !  "  said  Jackson,  "  what's  the  good  of  that? 
There  isn't  anything  to  see  and  it  can't  matter  in  the 
least  whether  I'm  blindfolded  or  not.  I  say,  Bryan, 
tell  him  not  to  blindfold  me.    It's  so  damned  silly." 

"  Emissaries  from  an  enemy's  camp,"  said  Tom, 
"  are  always  blindfolded.  That's  one  of  the  usages 
of  war.  And  we're  not  dirty  Huns,  Jackson.  We're 
running  this  war  according  to  all  the  rules  of  the 
Hague  Conference." 

*'  Oh,  all  right,"  said  Jackson.  "  Here,"  he  turned 
to  Maillia.  "  Tie  it  on.  But  I  hope  to  goodness  you'll 
take  it  off  again  and  let  me  see  the  girl  I'm  going  to 
talk  to.  My  CO.  will  be  frightfully  keen  to  know 
whether  she's  really  as  pretty  as  everybody  says. 
Look  here,  what  about  my  bike?" 

Maillia  gave  an  order  to  the  sentry  who  remained 
on  the  bridge.  He  was  bidden  to  guard  the  English 
officer's  bicycle  with  the  utmost  care. 

The  march  up  to  the  Court  House  began.  Two 
Volunteers  took  Jackson's  arms  and  led  him  along. 
Maillia  went  in  front  with  his  revolver  in  his  hands. 


2i8  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

The  rest  of  the  escort  followed.  Tom  limped  up  the 
street  at  the  tail  of  the  procession. 

A  large  crowd  of  townspeople  and  Volunteers  had 
gathered  in  front  of  the  steps  of  the  Court  House. 
Maillia,  after  an  attempt  to  force  his  way  forward, 
halted  his  party.  The  crowd  gave  no  heed  to  his 
demand  for  room  to  pass.  Indeed  no  one  took  any 
notice  of  him.  All  faces  were  turned  towards  the  steps 
of  the  Court  House.  Father  Roche  stood  there  and 
was  speaking  angrily  to  some  one.  Below  him,  drawn 
up  with  nice  precision  exactly  opposite  the  Court 
House  door,  was  a  motor  car.  In  it  sat  Sir  Ulick 
Conolly,  wrapped  in  a  large  fleecy  rug,  wearing  a  fur 
coat. 

"How  did  you  get  here?"  said  Father  Roche. 
"  Who  are  you  and  how  did  you  get  here  ?  No  one 
is  allowed  to  enter  Dunally  without  a  written  order 
from  Headquarters." 

"  I  must  apologize,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "  The  fact  is 
I  didn't  know  that  the — er — the  frontiers  had  been 
closed.  If  I'd  known  that  I  should  have  applied  for  a 
passport  in  the  usual  way,  to  your  consul  in  Dublin. 
You  have  a  consul  in  Dublin,  I  suppose?  " 

"How  did  you  pass  the  sentries?"  said  Father 
Roche.  "  They  have  strict  orders  to  fire  on  any  one 
who  attempts  to  force  his  way  into  the  town." 

"  I'm  so  glad  they  didn't,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "  As  a 
matter  of  fact  I  didn't  notice  the  sentries  myself. 
If  I  had  I  should  have  stopped  at  once.  Watkins," 
he  leaned  forward  and  tapped  the  chauffeur  on  the 
shoulder,  "  did  you  see  any  sentries?  '^ 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  219 

"  I  saw  two  young  men,  Sir  Ulick,"  said  the  chauf- 
feur. *'  Seemed  to  me  as  if  they  wanted  to  say  some- 
thing. But  they  didn't  shoot  at  us,  sir.  I'd  be  sure 
to  have  noticed  it  if  they  had." 

"  There  you  are  now,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "  A  pure 
misunderstanding.  And  now  perhaps  you  will  tell  me 
where  I  am  likely  to  find  Miss  Conolly?  Is  she  in 
the  Court  House  ?  " 

"I  shall  have  you  put  under  arrest,"  said  Father 
Roche.     "  You  can't  see  Miss  Conolly." 

Old  Maillia,  partially  drunk,  but  still  quite  capable 
of  speech  and  motion,  slipped  out  of  the  door 
of  the  Court  House  and  whispered  in  the  priest's 
ear. 

"  Ah,  Maillia,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  "  I'm  glad  to  see  you. 
I  wish  you'd  tell  that  reverend  gentleman  that  I'm 
Miss  Conolly's  father.  I  quite  understand  that  he  has 
to  be  particular  about  taking  care  of  her  now  that 
she's  left  her  aunt's  house.  He  can't  let  every  stranger 
that  turns  up  have  an  interview  with  her.  Priests  are 
the  natural  guardians  of  propriety.  I  don't  blame  him 
in  the  least.  But  when  he  has  your  word  for  it  that 
I'm  really  her  father  he'll  let  me  in  at  once." 

Maillia,  still  speaking  in  a  hoarse  whisper,  expostu- 
lated with  the  priest.  The  scowl  on  Father  Roche's 
face  deepened.  Maillia,  being  nearly  half  drunk,  did 
a  very  daring  thing.  He  took  the  priest  by  the  arm 
and  tried  to  drag  him  away.  Father  Roche  shook 
him  off  angrily.  He  raised  the  stick  he  held  in  his 
hand  as  if  to  strike  old  IVIaillia. 

''  If  you  do  that,"  said  Maillia,  "  I'll  smash  your 


220  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

mouth,  so  I  will,  priest  and  all  as  you  are.  I'll  smasK 
it,  if  I  burn  in  hell  after." 

Sir  Ulick  stepped  from  his  car. 

"Do  be  careful,  Maillia,"  he  said.  "I  appreciate 
your  courage;  but  I'd  much  rather  you  didn't  imperil 
your  eternal  salvation  on  my  account.  It's  not  worth 
while.  These  little  annoyances  are  very  temporary, 
after  all.  Burning  in  hell,  by  all  accounts,  is  a  pro- 
longed business." 

"  I'll  have  no  blasphemous  language  used  in  my 
hearing,"  said  Father  Roche. 

"  I  apologize  again,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "  I  was  under 
the  impression  that  I  was  expressing  a  strictly  ortho- 
dox opinion.'* 

Then  Mona  appeared  at  the  door.  She  was  pale, 
but  seemed  cool  and  self-possessed. 

"  You  can  come  in,  father,  if  you  want  to,"  she 
said.  "I've  no  objection  to  your  seeing  what  we're 
doing  or  hearing  what  we  say.  We've  nothing  to  con- 
ceal or  to  be  ashamed  of." 

She  went  up  to  the  priest  and  laid  her  hand  on 
his  arm. 

"  Father  Roche,"  she  said,  "  dear  Father  Roche, 
you  have  dared  so  much  and  given  so  much  for  Ire- 
land and  for  our  young  men.  Don't  let  us  spoil  our 
cause  by  quarrelling  among  ourselves.  Don't  let  us 
sully  our  honour  with  any  unworthy  acts." 

"  Hear,  hear,"  said  old  Maillia.  Then  he  hiccupped 
and  repeated  "Hear,  hear.  It's  you  that's  the  real 
lady,  Miss  Mona.  Sure  anybody  would  know  it  that 
ever  seen  you  sitting  on  a  horse." 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  221 

Mona,  speaking  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd  in 
front  of  her,  commanded  Peter  Maillia  to  bring  the 
officer  under  his  charge  into  the  Court  House. 

Then  she  turned  and  went  in. 

"  Watkins,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  "  take  the  car  round  to 
Dunally  House  and  wait  there." 

Bowing  and  standing  back  courteously,  he  allowed 
Father  Roche  to  precede  him  into  the  Court  House. 
Old  Maillia  shuffled  up  and  took  his  arm. 

"  It's  a  good  thing  you've  come,  so  it  is."  he 
whispered.  "  It's  time  there  was  a  stop  put  to  this 
foolishness.  She's  a  fine  young  lady,  Miss  Mona  is, 
and  I'm  not  denying  it.  But  what  she  wants  is  a 
taste  of  the  stick,  and  if  she  was  my  daughter  I'd  have 
sense  bate  into  her  before  she  was  a  day  older." 


CHAPTER  XX 

AN  Irish  Petty  Sessions  Court  House  is  not  suited 
for  use  as  a  Council  Chamber.  The  furniture 
is  firmly  fixed  in  place  and  cannot  be  moved 
without  great  violence.  Across  the  end  of  the  room 
run  the  magistrates'  seats,  a  row  of  chairs  with  a  wide 
table  in  front  of  them.  Chairs  and  table  are  on  a 
raised  platform.  Below  them  is  accommodation  for 
the  Clerk  of  the  Court,  a  strong  table  on  which  wit- 
nesses stand,  an  uncomfortable  little  box  for  the 
prisoner,  and  narrow  seats  like  church  pews  with  high 
straight  backs  in  which  solicitors  and  privileged  spec- 
tators sit.  Beyond  this  group  of  wooden  pens,  on  a 
still  lower  level,  is  a  vacant  floor  space  where  on  ordi- 
nary occasions  the  undistinguished  part  of  the  public 
is  allowed  to  gather.  The  whole  arrangement  is  in- 
spired by  the  idea  of  hierarchy,  of  rigid  distinction  of 
rank.  A  Council  Chamber,  like  a  House  of  Parlia- 
ment, ought  to  suggest  equality  of  membership  under 
the  limited  rulership  of  an  elected  President.  In  a 
thoroughly  democratic  Council  like  that  of  a  new 
republic,  the  President  and  his  assessors  should  be 
scarcely  distinguishable  by  pride  of  place  from  the 
humblest  of  their  fellow  members.  They  certainly 
should  not  occupy  the  position  of  judges  who  an- 
nounce law  and  pass  sentence. 

It  was  not  of  her  own  choice  that  Mona  found 

222 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  223 

herself  in  the  place  of  the  Chairman  of  Petty  Sessions, 
seated  behind  the  magistrates'  table,  looking  down 
on  her  followers.  Father  Roche  alone  took  a  chair 
beside  her.  Peter  Maillia  and  the  other  officers  sat  in 
the  seats  usually  occupied  by  solicitors.  Old  Maillia, 
bringing  Sir  Ulick  with  him,  took  the  clerk's  box. 
They  sat  wath  their  backs  to  Mona  and  Father  Roche, 
but  they  had  the  advantage  of  facing  Lieutenant  Jack- 
son who  was  set  by  his  escort  on  the  witness'  table. 
The  body  of  the  Court  was  crowded  with  townspeople 
and  Volunteers.  The  rank  and  file  of  an  army  does 
not  usually  take  part  in  the  councils  of  officers  or  in 
the  reception  of  ambassadors  from  the  enemy.  The 
presence  of  civilians,  the  non-combatant  inhabitants 
of  an  occupied  town,  is  even  less  desirable.  But  the 
tradition  of  the  Court  House  was  too  strong  for  the 
military  spirit.  Irish  people  are  accustomed  to  take 
an  intelligent  and  amused  interest  in  the  administra- 
tion of  justice.  The  inhabitants  of  Dunally  saw  no 
reason  w^hy  they  should  be  shut  out  of  a  house  of 
entertainment.  Besides,  what  is  the  good  of  ^tab- 
lishing  a  republic  if  the  etiquette  of  effete  feudalism 
survives  in  it  ? 

Mona  stood  up  and  demanded  silence.  Then  she 
addressed  Lieutenant  Jackson. 

*  Who  are  you,"  she  asked,  "  and  what  do  you  want 
with  us?  " 

"  I  say,"  said  Jackson,  *'  before  we  start  talking,  I 
suppose  I  may  take  this  beastly  handkerchief  thing 
off  my  face.  I  don't  believe  it's  clean.  In  fact,  I'm 
sure  it  isn't.    It's  tied  over  my  nose  as  well  as  my  eyes, 


224  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

and  it  doesn't  smell  nice,  not  a  bit  nice.  Besides,  I 
can't  breathe  properly." 

He  unknotted  the  bandage  as  he  spoke.  Then  he 
took  a  long  look,  first  at  Mona,  next  at  the  crowd  in 
the  Court.  He  turned  slowly  round  so  as  to  see  every- 
thing.   Then  he  faced  Mona  again. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  said  Mona. 

"  I  was  an  acting  captain,  temp,  of  course,  in  the 
Midland  Fusilers,"  said  Jackson.  "But  I  reverted 
to  my  former  rank,  a  simple  '  Loot,'  you  know,  when 
wounded  and  sent  home.  Rather  mean  dodge  that, 
don't  you  think?  A  fellow  wants  the  extra  pay  a  lot 
more  when  he's  at  home  and  has  something  to  spend 
it  on." 

He  smiled  in  a  friendly  and  confidential  manner 
at  Mona,  and  then  nodded  cheerily  to  Father  Roche. 

"  That's  nothing  to  do  with  us,"  said  the  priest. 
"  Tell  us  what  you  want  here." 

"  Right-o,"  said  Jackson.  "  I  only  mentioned  that 
because  I  was  asked  who  I  was.  What  I  want  is 
quite  simple.  You  silly  blighters  have  jolly  well  got 
to  surrender,  lay  down  your  guns  and  sticks  and 
things,  and  give  yourselves  up.     Compris  ?  " 

The  priest  laughed  angrily.  The  Volunteers  in  the 
body  of  the  Court  laughed  too.  Gradually  their 
laughter  turned  to  a  growl.  There  were  cries  "  Turn 
him  out!"  "Throw  him  into  the  river!"  "Shoot 
him !  "    Father  Roche  started  to  his  feet. 

"  We  won't  sit  here,"  he  said,  "  to  listen  to  insults 
to  the  people  of  Ireland." 

Ati  angry  shout  followed  his  words.     Sticks  were 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  225 

waved.  Some  one  in  the  body  of  the  Court  fired  a 
revolver.  The  bullet  went  harmlessly  into  the  ceiling; 
but  the  sound  of  the  shot  produced  a  certain  sobering 
of  the  crowd.  When  Mona  asked  for  order  and 
silence  the  noise  subsided. 

*'Why  should  we  surrender?"  she  asked. 

Sir  Ulick  rose  in  his  place  before  Lieutenant  Jack- 
son had  time  to  answer. 

**  May  I  say  a  few  words?"  he  said.  "Strictly 
speaking,  Fve  no  right  to  be  heard;  but  as  I  happen 
to  be  connected  with  the  Government " 

"What  Government?"  said  Father  Roche. 

"  I  ought  to  have  said  the  late  Government,"  said 
Sir  Ulick.  "  I  apologize.  Speaking  then  as  an  of- 
ficial who  knew  something  of  the  plans  of  the  Govern- 
ment which  you  have  just  deposed " 

"  We've  nothing  to  do  with  any  Government,"  said 
Father  Roche.    "  We've  had  enough  of  Governments." 

"  Really ! "  said  Sir  Ulick.  "  Even  so,  you  must 
feel  a  certain  interest " 

"You  can't  speak  now,"  said  Mona;  "we  want  to 
hear  what  this  officer  has  to  say  to  us.  Now,"  she 
addressed  Lieutenant  Jackson  again,  "  why  should 
we  surrender  ?  " 

Sir  Ulick  sat  down  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Ever  seen  a  field  gun  working?"  said  Jackson. 
"  I  don't  suppose  you  have.  Or  a  trench  mortar  ? 
Well,  you'll  have  to  take  my  word  for  it.  A  few 
guns  and  trench  mortars  would  make  this  town  of 
yours  feel  jolly  sick  in  less  than  an  hour.  We  happen 
to  have  half  a  battery  of  field  guns  on  the  hill  behind 


226  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

the  bridge.  By  this  time  they're  in  position  and  ready 
to  fire.  And  we've  six  trench  mortars,  under  a  johnny 
who  knows  how  to  use  them.  I  expect  by  now  they're 
scattered  about  the  near  side  of  the  hill  within  com- 
fortable range  of  the  town.  The  trench  mortar  isn't 
much  to  look  at,  but  its  shells  make  a  hell  of  a  mess 
when  they  go  off." 

Sir  Ulick  was  on  his  feet  again. 

"  Perhaps  you'll  allow  me  to  say,"  he  said,  "  that 
there's  been  a  misapprehension,  a  mistake.     I  assure 


you " 

No  one  listened  to  him.  Father  Roche  was  talking 
loudly. 

"  We  don't  believe  a  word  of  that  story  about  the 
guns,"  he  said.  "  We  know  it  isn't  true.  Our  rising 
here  was  the  signal  for  a  general  movement  all  over 
Ireland.  By  this  time  all  the  railways  are  in  the 
hands  of  our  friends.  The  roads  are  guarded.  The 
English  garrisons  are  surrounded  and  helpless.  They 
can't  move  men  and  guns  about  the  country  to  attack 
us." 

The  speech  was  greeted  with  loud  cheers.  All  morn- 
ing placards  had  been  appearing  on  the  doors  and 
gates  and  walls  announcing  that  the  whole  country 
was  afire,  that  the  English  army  was  paralysed.  Great 
is  the  power  of  words,  written  or  spoken,  if  they  are 
repeated  often  enough.  The  voice  of  a  priest  also 
carries  conviction,  in  Ireland.  It  is  impossible  to  sup- 
pose that  an  official  of  an  infallible  church  can  be  mis- 
taken in  any  important  matter.  Therefore  the  crowd 
in  the  Court  House,  their  eyes  on  Mona  and  the  priest, 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  227 

cheered  enthusiastically.    When  they  looked,  occasion- 
ally, at  Lieutenant  Jackson,  they  cheered  derisively. 

For  a  minute  or  two  Jackson  was  bewildered.  But 
the  continued  cheering  gave  him  time  to  recover  him- 
self. When  the  noise  had  subsided  a  little  he  tried 
to  speak  again. 

''  I  say,  you  know,"  he  said,  "  that's  awful  rot.  It's 
— oh,  damn  it  all — it's  simple  piffle." 

He  was  interrupted  at  once  with  shouts,  threats 
and  curses.  The  man  with  the  revolver  fired  two  shots 
in  close  succession.  The  bullets  this  time  lodged  in 
the  wall  above  Mona's  head.  The  man  was  warming 
to  his  work.  It  seemed  likely  that  the  next  time  he 
fired  he  would  hit  somebody. 

"Oh,  all  right,"  said  Jackson,  "have  it  any  way 
you  like.  But  the  guns  are  there  all  the  same,  and  you 
won't  like  it,  not  a  little  bit,  when  they  begin  to  shoot." 

"  Perhaps "   it  was  Sir  Ulick  trying  to  speak 

again.  "  Mr.  President — or  should  I  say  Miss  Presi- 
dent? Miss  President  and  Reverend  Sir,  or  Right 
Reverend  Sir,  will  you  allow  me  to  tell  you  something? 
It  really  is  of  some  importance.  It  will  help  to  clear 
up  the  situation." 

Mona  nodded. 

"Citizens  of  the  Irish  Republic,"  said  Sir  Ulick, 
"you  have,  as  I  understand,  assembled  here  to  enter 
your  protest  against  conscription.  That's  it,  isn't  it?  " 
He  appealed  to  Mona.  "  You  are  under  the  impres- 
sion that  conscription  is  to  be  enforced  immediately 
and  that  the  military  authorities  mean  to  begin  with 
Dunally.'^ 


228  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

"  We  know  that  for  certain,"  said  Mona. 

"  Our  information "  said  Father  Roche. 

"The  report  is  quite  unfounded,"  said  Sir  Ulick. 
"  The  Government  has  come  to  no  such  decision.  Fm 
not  asking  you  to  take  my  word  for  this.    I " 

Father  Roche  laughed  loudly. 

"  We  never  take  the  word  of  any  member  of  the 
Government  for  anything,"  he  said.  "  The  Irish  peo- 
ple have  been  deceived  too  often." 

"  I  dare  say  you're  quite  right,"  said  Sir  Ulick. 
"  Governments  are  untrustworthy  things.  Nobody 
knows  that  better  than  I  do.    But  in  this  case " 

"  Father,"  said  Mona,  "  is  it  any  use  going  on 
talking?  We  know  that  our  information  is 
correct." 

Lieutenant  Jackson  stood  fiddling  with  his  cigarette 
case.  He  was  not  quite  sure  whether  he  ought  to 
smoke  or  not.  His  eyes  were  on  Mona.  He  realized 
that  the  reports  he  had  heard  about  her  good  looks 
were  true.  Indeed  the  reports  had  been  understate- 
ments. She  was  actually  beautiful.  It  seemed  to  him 
a  great  pity  that  she  should  be  killed  or  maimed  by  a 
shell  from  a  trench  mortar. 

"Look  here,"  he  said.  "You  don't  believe  me 
about  those  guns,  and,  of  course,  it  isn't  really  my 
business   to   offer  you   proofs.     Very  likely   I'll  be 

strafed  afterwards,  but " 

Sir  Ulick  interrupted  him. 

"  Excuse  me  for  one  minute,"  he  said.  "  Fm  in 
a  position  to  offer  you  proofs  that  my  statements  are 
true.    You  were  told  about  the  Government  plans,  the 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  229 

supposed  Government  plans,  by  Miss  Murphy,  my  sec- 
retary and  typist.    Isn't  that  so?  " 

He  looked  at  Mona.  She  was  surprised,  not  for 
the  first  time,  at  the  accuracy  of  her  father's  infor- 
matioa 

*'  Well,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  "  before  I  left  Dublin  this 
morning  I  sent  a  message,  a  very  urgent  message, 
to  Miss  Murphy,  telling  her  to  come  down  here  by  the 
first  train.  She  will  be  at  the  station  in  about  half  an 
hour.  If  you  send  to  meet  her  she  might  be  here" 
— he  glanced  at  his  watch — ''  by  half-past  one.  I  dare 
say  you'll  believe  her  when  she  tells  you  she  was  en- 
tirely mistaken  about  the  Government's  intentions." 

"And  I  say,"  Jackson  broke  in,  "if  you  don't  be- 
lieve me  about  the  guns,  will  you  come  and  see  ?  You 
can't  say  that  isn't  a  fair  offer.  Send  any  one  you 
like.  Let  Miss  Conolly  come  herself,  and  see  the  guns 
and  the  trench  mortars.  Then  she  can  come  back  and 
tell  the  rest  of  you  whether  they're  there  or  not.  Come 
now,  that's  a  fair  offer." 

"  It's  a  trap,"  said  Father  Roche. 

"  I'll  give  you  my  word  of  honour,"  said  Jackson. 
"  Or  look  here,  I'll  stay  with  you  till  she  comes  back. 
I'll  be  a  bally  hostage,  and  you  can  shoot  me  if  they 
do  anything  to  her.  Only  if  I  stay,  somebody  will 
have  to  go  whom  my  CO.  will  talk  to.  He'll  want 
some  explanation,  don't  you  know?  You  don't  be- 
lieve a  word  I  say  and  you  can't  expect  him  to  trust 
you.  If  Miss  Conolly  goes  there  by  herself  and  says 
she  wants  to  see  his  guns — well,  it  would  be  a  bit 
thick,  wouldn't  it?    But  if  some  one  went  with  her — 


230  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

I  say,  what  about  Tom  Bryan?    He's  just  the  man 
for  the  job." 

Tom  Bryan  had  edged  his  way  into  the  Court 
House  at  the  beginning  of  the  Council  Meeting.  He 
stood  among  a  crowd  of  civilian  spectators  near  the 
door.     He  responded  at  once  to  Jackson's  appeal. 

"  Right-o,"  he  said.     "  I'm  on." 

"  Better  get  into  uniform,  Bryan,"  said  Jackson. 
"  The  CO.  is  a  decent  old  bird,  but  a  bit  fat  headed. 
He  might  think  you  were  another  Sinn  Feiner  if  you 
didn't  wear  uniform." 

Jackson's  confident  offer  and  Sir  Ulick's  readiness 
to  produce  Miss  Murphy  had  a  certain  effect  on  the 
crowd  in  the  Court  House.  The  Irish  are  naturally 
and  properly  distrustful  of  statements  made  to  them 
by  people  in  authority,  government  officials,  politicians 
and  even  soldiers.  They  have  long  memories.  Bitter 
experience  has  taught  them  that  lies  are  current  coin 
in  public  business  and  that  promises  are  very  rarely 
kept.  Therefore  neither  Jackson  nor  Sir  Ulick  con- 
vinced them.  They  were  still  inclined  to  think  that 
Miss  Conolly  and  Father  Roche  were  to  be  believed, 
but  they  were  no  longer  quite  certain.  Doubt  of  a 
particularly  horrible  kind  entered  their  minds.  Sup- 
pose they  had  been  mistaken  and  there  was  no  im- 
mediate intention  of  forcing  them  into  the  army! 
Suppose  there  really  were  guns  on  the  hills  round  the 
town!  There  was  silence  in  the  Court  House  while 
Mona  and  Father  Roche  whispered  together.  Mona 
was  vaguely  conscious,  the  priest  was  acutely  aware, 
of  the  growing  feeling  of  doubt  in  the  minds  of  the 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  231 

people.  He  was  beginning  to  feel  a  little  uncertain 
himself. 

"  We  accept  your  offer,"  he  said  at  last. 

"You,  or  Miss  Conolly,  or  both?"  said  Jackson. 
"  It's  all  the  same  to  me." 

"  I  shall  go,"  said  Mona.  "  Father  Roche  will  take 
my  place  here." 

"  Right-o,"  said  Jackson.  "  I  say,  Bryan,  you'll 
have  to  explain  the  whole  thing  to  the  CO.  With- 
erly  is  his  name  and  he's  a  Lieutenant-Colonel.  He'll 
be  all  right  if  you  don't  try  to  rush  him  too  fast.  He 
doesn't  want  to  shoot  anybody.  Hates  the  notion  of 
shelling  this  town.  In  fact,  he'll  be  jolly  glad  to  get 
off,  especially  when  he  sees " 

He  intended  to  say  that  Colonel  Witherly  would 
be  less  anxious  than  ever  to  shell  Dunally  when  he 
saw  what  a  pretty  girl  Miss  Conolly  was.  But  he 
stopped  himself  before  he  finished  the  sentence.  He 
was  not  a  young  man  of  much  tact  or  delicacy  of 
feeling,  but  he  realized  that  Miss  Conolly  might  resent 
the  suggestion  that  her  personal  appearance  was  a 
factor  in  deciding  military  events. 

"I  say.  Uncle  Ulick,"  said  Tom,  *' can  we  have 
your  car?  I'm  not  Ai  at  walking,  and  it  will  take  all 
day  if  I  have  to  hobble  there  and  back." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  ''  I  intended  to  go 
with  Watkins  to  meet  Miss  Murphy,  but " 

"  I  shall  arrange  for  meeting  Miss  Murphy,"  said 
Father  Roche.  *'  But  I  shall  not  allow  you  to  go  and 
meet  her.     You  might " 

He  too,  like  Jackson,  hesitated  to  finish  his  sentence. 


232  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

He  had  already  openly  expressed  his  conviction  that 
Sir  Ulick  was  an  unscrupulous  liar.  There  was  no 
real  reason  why  he  should  not  suggest  that  he  might 
threaten  or  cajole  Miss  Murphy. 

"I  understand,"  said  Sir  Ulick  mildly.  "  I  might 
tamper  with  the  witness.  Quite  right.  Don't  take 
any  unnecessary  risks.  I'm  not  trustworthy  I  know. 
Can't  be  in  my  job.  When  you're  running  the  Irish 
Republic,  Father  Roche — you'll  be  minister  of  public 
morals,  I  suppose — you'll  find  that  you  have  to  lie 
just  as  we  do.  Governments  can't  be  run  on  any  other 
system.  It's  a  pity;  but  there  you  are.  And  the  de- 
partment of  public  morals  will  be  extraordinarily  diffi- 
cult to  manage.  We  never  had  one,  thank  heaven! 
But  you  will  and  you'll  feel  the  necessity  of  deceiving 
every  one  you  can  on  all  possible  occasions." 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  Peter  Maillia,  driving 
his  father's  car,  set  out  northwards  to  meet  Miss 
Murphy.  The  car  was  an  ancient  and  very  noisy 
vehicle,  but  old  Maillia  was  of  opinion  that  it  might 
get  to  the  station  and  back  if  Peter  kept  it  going  fast 
and  did  not  slacken  speed  at  corners  or  try  to  avoid 
running  over  dogs  and  children. 

Mona  went  southwards  in  her  father's  car.  She  sat 
in  the  tonneau  by  herself,  having  decisively  declined 
to  discuss  the  situation  with  Tom  Bryan.  He  sat 
with  Watkins  in  front. 

Sir  Ulick  settled  down  in  the  smoking-room  of 
Dunally  House.  He  ordered  a  whisky  and  soda,  took 
a  cigar  from  Lord  Athowen  and  made  up  a  really 
large  fire. 


CHAPTER  XXI 


"  ^^  ^ELL,  Toodles,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan,  "I  hope 
you're  satisfied  with  yourself  now.     I  al- 


W 

ways  told  you  that  if  you  wouldn't  sit 
down  to  the  job  of  governing  Ireland  properly " 

"Properly?"  said  Sir  Ulick. 

"  Which  is  what  you're  paid  to  do,"  said  Mrs. 
Bryan.  "If  you  went  on  searching  about  for  gaps  and 
skirting  the  ditches  instead  of  riding  at  your  jumps 
you'd  land  the  country  in  a  mess ;  and  you  have.  Your 
own  daughter  will  either  be  hanged  or  shot.  We  shall 
all  be  murdered.  The  hunting  will  be  stopped  for  the 
rest  of  the  season,  though  that  won't  matter  much  if 
we're  dead,  unless  the  blackguards  poison  the  hounds, 
which  they're  quite  capable  of  doing;  and  there's  no- 
body, so  far  as  I  can  see,  to  stand  between  us  and 
destruction  except  old  Maillia,  who's  generally  drunk. 
Now  what  have  you  to  say  for  yourself,  Toodles?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  "  I  haven't  an  excuse 
to  offer.     But  I  hope " 

"  I  don't  see  any  hope  myself,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan. 

"  There's  not  much.  Still  if  we  can  convince  Mona 
and  that  priest  that  the  Government  didn't  really  mean 
to  raid  Dunally  for  conscripts " 

"  Best  thing  you  could  have  done,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan, 
"if  you'd  done  it.  But  instead  of  taking  a  firm  grip 
with  your  knees  and  going  at  it  straight  you  stopped 

233 


234  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

to  look  at  it  and  talk.  You  always  do  stop  to  talk, 
Toodles.'* 

"  Between  ourselves,"  said  Lord  Athowen,  "  and 
speaking  quite  unofficially,  is  there  any  truth  in  the 
story  which  set  this  affair  going?  " 

"  Not  a  word,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "  The  Government 
said  long  ago  it  meant  to  apply  compulsory  service  to 
Ireland.    But " 

"Said!"  said  Mrs.  Bryan. 

''Exactly,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "I  don't  know  for 
certain;  but  I  don't  think  they  ever  meant  to  do  it. 
No  plans  were  arranged.  There  certainly  wasn't  the 
slightest  intention  of  raiding  Dunally.  So  far  as  I 
can  make  out  what  happened  was  this.  Some  fool 
wrote  me  a  letter — fools  are  always  writing  me  letters. 
This  particular  idiot  was  Jefferson,  Atty  Jefferson  of 
Grange.    You  know  him,  Athowen?  " 

"  Fellow  who's  always  spreading  himself  about 
Protestantism  and  loyalty  to  the  Empire,  but  got  a 
soft  job  in  Remounts  at  home  for  his  son  when  the 
war  started." 

"  That's  the  man,"  said  Sir  Ulick. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  took  his  advice, 
Toodles,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  I  did  think  you'd  more 
sense  than  that  though  I  never  gave  you  credit  for 
having  much." 

"My  dear  Caroline!  So  far  from  taking  his  ad- 
vice, I  didn't  even  read  the  whole  of  his  letter.  It 
was  terrifically  long,  and  as  well  as  I  could  make  out 
— I  got  half  way  through — it  was  a  worked  out  scheme 
ior\  applying  conscription  to  Ireland  by  a  system  of 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  235 

local  raids.  He  said  that  he'd  guarantee  the  help  of 
a  couple  of  thousand  stalwart  young  men  from  the 
north,  who'd  take  a  delight  in  rounding  up  the  Papists. 
I  don't  know  whether  he  actually  mentioned  Dunally 
or  not,  for  when  I  got  to  the  part  about  the  two  thou- 
sand stalwarts  I  threw  the  letter  into  the  waste-paper 
basket.  I  don't  remember  whether  I  tore  it  up 
or  not." 

"  Yes,"  said  Lord  Athowen,  "  and  what  happened 
then?" 

"  Oh,  the  usual  thing,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "  What's 
always  happening.  Some  one  on  my  staff,  a  girl,  a 
Miss  Murphy,  fished  the  letter  out  of  the  waste-paper 
basket  and  read  it.     She's  a  Sinn  Feiner." 

"  Serves  you  right  for  keeping  Sinn  Feiners  in  your 
office,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.     ''  What  do  you  do  it  for?" 

"  Must  have  some  one  to  do  shorthand  and  typing," 
said  Sir  Ulick,  **  and  nowadays  all  the  girls  of  that 
class  are  either  fools  or  Sinn  Feiners.  A  fool  \vorries 
me  so  much  that  I  prefer  a  Sinn  Feiner." 

"  Tom  says  she's  very  good  looking,"  said  Lord 
Athowen. 

"Is  she?  I  don't  know,  but  I  don't  expect  she  is. 
The  good-looking  ones  are  generally  fools,  out  after 
young  men  and  not  interested  in  their  work." 

"  Sensible  I  call  that,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  It's  the 
ones  who  don't  care  for  young  men  and  are  interested 
in  copying  out  your  silly  letters  who  are  the  fools." 

"  Well,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  "  in  this  particular  case 
Miss  Murphy  didn't  show  her  usual  intelligence.  She 
took  Atty  Jefferson's  ravings  for  a  serious  state  docu- 


536  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

merit  and  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  we  intended  to 
act  on  his  perfectly  absurd  plan.  Then  she  handed  on 
her  valuable  information  to  Mona,  or  somebody  who 
told  Mona." 

"  So  that  deserter  said,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan. 

"The  deserter?"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "The  man  you 
sent  your  letter  by  is  a  deserter,  is  he  ?  From  Mona's 
army,  or  ours  ?  " 

"Both,  I  think,"  said  Lord  Athowen. 

"  That  fellow  would  desert  from  any  army  that 
looked  like  fighting,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan. 

"  He's  not  a  fool  by  any  means,"  said  Sir  Ulick. 

"  Your  notions  of  foolishness  aren't  mine,  Toodles," 
said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  I  should  have  said  that  fellow 
had  gone  dotty  from  pure  fright." 

"I  talked  the  whole  thing  over  with  him,"  said  Sir 
Ulick,  "  and  it  was  through  what  he  said  that  I  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  Miss  Murphy  had  been  gloating 
over  Atty  Jefferson's  letter.  I  thought  the  best  thing 
I  could  do  was  to  get  her  and  the  letter  down  here. 
She's  pretty  sure  to  have  kept  the  letter.  I  didn't 
want  to  wait  for  her,  so  I  left  word  for  her  to  come 
down  by  the  first  train.  I  expect  she's  here  by  this 
time  telling  that  young  priest  exactly  where  she  got  her 
information.  He'll  tell  Mona,  and  then,  I  trust,  the 
whole  affair  will  collapse.  That's  what  I  meant  when 
I  said  I  had  some  sort  of  hope  that  we  might  get  Mona 
out  of  the  scrape  she's  in." 

"  Extraordinary  roundabout  ways  you  think  of  for 
doing  things,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  I  suppose  that's 
the  art  of  government.    H  so  I  don't  wonder  every- 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  237 

thing's  always  in  a  mess.  Now  if  I  was  governing 
Ireland  and  found  myself  up  against  a  situation  of 
this  kind " 

"Yes?"  said  Sir  Ulick. 

"  I'd  shoot  that  priest,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  I'd 
hand  Peter  Maillia  over  to  his  father  and  give  the 
old  man  a  present  of  a  good  stick.  I'd  put  Mona  to 
bed  and  hire  two  or  three  strong  hospital  nurses  to 
keep  her  there,  on  low  diet,  for  six  weeks.  Either 
that,  or  I'd  recognize  the  Irish  Republic  officially  and 
retire  on  whatever  pension  they'd  give  me." 

Lord  Athowen  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  chuckled. 

"  Not  practical  politics,  Caroline,"  he  said.  "  In  a 
different  sort  of  world.  But  really  it's  as  good  a  plan 
as  the  other.  Your  idea  " — he  turned  to  Sir  Ulick — 
*'  is  that  if  Mona  and  her  friends  find  out  that  they've 
nothing  to  rebel  about  they'll  stop  rebelling  at  once. 
They  ought  to,  of  course,  but  I  don't  believe  they  will. 
At  least  that's  not  my  experience  of  Ireland." 

"  I'm  bound  to  admit,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  "  that  it's 
not  mine  either.  Still,  there's  a  chance.  There's  al- 
ways a  chance.  I  never  said  I  was  certain,  only  that 
I  had  some  hope." 

"  What  strikes  me  as  a  further  point  for  considera- 
tion," said  Lord  Athowen,  "  is  this.  Haven't  things 
gone  too  far — I  mean,  supposing  Mona's  boys  lay 
down  their  arms  now,  they  can't  just  trot  quietly  back 
to  their  jobs,  can  they?  Isn't  there  bound  to  be  a  fuss 
afterwards?" 

"  Oh,  I  think  we  can  manage  that  part  all  right," 
said  Sir  Ulick. 


238  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

"  Of  course,  if  you  say  so,"  said  Lord  Athowen. 
"  I'm  sure  it  is  all  right,  but " 

"  Toodles  thinks  he  can  manage  everything  and 
every  one,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  ''  I  wish  he'd  manage 
his  own  daughter." 

"  Here  we  have  an  armed  force  of  rebels,"  said  Lord 
Athowen,  ''who  have  seized  and  held  for  forty  hours 
or  so  a  town — I  don't  say  a  large  town,  but  a  town 
of  some  importance  in  the  county.  They've  im- 
prisoned the  police.  They've  flown  a  rebel  flag. 
They've  issued  proclamations  in  the  name  of  a  re- 
public  '^ 

''  And  stopped  the  hunting,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan. 

"  They've  compelled  the  Commander-in-Chief  to 
send  a  large  force  of  horse,  foot  and  artillery  against 
them.  Do  you  mean  to  say,  Ulick,  that  nothing  more 
will  happen?  that  things  can  just  stop  as  if  nothing 
ever  happened?" 

"  The  Government  won't  want  any  fuss,"  said  Sir 
Ulick.  "  What  with  the  war  and  the  Irish  vote  in 
America  and  the  Labour  Pacifist  people  in  England, 
and  all  their  own  silly  talk  about  oppressed  nationali- 
ties the  last  thing  they'll  want  is  to  draw  attention  to 
a  rebellion  in  Ireland.  If  I  can  stop  the  thing  without 
actual  bloodshed  the  Government  won't  want  to  have 
any  state  prosecutions  or  anything  else.  They'll  just 
pretend  it  never  happened." 

"  But  the  newspapers?  "  said  Lord  Athowen.  "By 
this  time  all  the  papers  in  the  kingdom  will  be  blazing 
with  the  news." 

"  No,"  said  Sir  Ulick.    "  They  won't.    Not  a  paper 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  239 

will  mention  it.  You  forget  the  Censor.  I  rang  him 
up  first  thing  this  morning  when  I  heard  what  was 
going  on.  He  was  in  bed  at  the  time  and  apparently 
sound  asleep.  I  don't  think  I  quite  w^oke  him  up,  but 
he'll  have  a  dreamy  impression  on  his  mind  that  this 
rebellion  is  barred  for  the  press.  He'll  act  on  that,  and 
let  nothing  appear  in  print  till  he  hears  from  me  again. 
The  w^ar  hasn't  done  much  good  to  the  world  that 
ever  I  could  see;  but  we  must  admit  that  it  has  given 
us  the  Press  Censor.  We  ought  to  be  thankful  for 
that.  If  we  can  only  keep  him  on  after  peace  is  signed 
the  job  of  governing  will  be  much  simpler  than  it 
used  to  be." 

"  There's  the  luncheon  gong,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan. 
"  Let's  go  and  eat.  It  makes  me  sick  to  hear  you 
talking,  Toodles.  Anything  more  shamelessly  un- 
principled than  the  things  you  say  and  do I'd 

rather,  I'd  fifty  times  rather  have  old  Maillia's  politics 
than  yours.  He  drinks,  and  when  he  can  he  bullies. 
He  lies,  of  course,  but  he  doesn't  boast  about  lying. 
He  isn't  actually  proud  of  it." 

**  Didn't!  you  say  luncheon  w^as  ready,  Caroline  ?  " 
said  Sir  Ulick.  '*  I'm  very  hungry.  Do  you  know  I 
left  home  at  a  few  minutes  after  seven  this 
morning?  " 

Sir  Ulick,  though  hungry,  was  not  allowed  to  eat 
his  luncheon  in  peace.  He  finished  the  wing  of  a 
chicken  and  drank  a  glass  of  sherry.  He  intended  to 
have  another  wing  and  another  glass  of  sherry.  There 
was  a  ring  at  the  door  of  the  house.  The  butler,  leav- 
ing Sir  Ulick's  empty  plate  on  the  side  table,  went  to 


240  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

the  door.  He  returned  to  announce  that  Maillia 
would  like  to  speak  to  Sir  Ulick. 

"  H  it's  the  poet,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan,  "  let  him  wait." 

"  Let  either  of  them  wait,  or  both,"  said  Lord  Atho- 
wen.    "  Finish  your  luncheon  before  you  see  them." 

"  I'm  an  unprincipled  man,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  rising 
slowly.  "  Shamelessly  unprincipled,  Caroline,  but  the 
call  of  duty  always  finds  me  ready." 

"Oh,  if  you  call  talking  to  old  Maillia  duty! "  said 
Mrs.  Bryan. 

"  He  seems  to  have  summoned  up  courage  to  come 
to  the  hall  door  this  time,"  said  Lord  Athowen. 

"  Probably  too  drunk  to  care  who  sees  him,"  said 
Mrs.  Bryan. 

Old  Maillia  was  not  very  drunk.  He  was  not  as 
drunk  as  he  had  been  two  hours  earlier  in  the  Court 
House.  He  had  tasted  no  whisky  since  then  and  his 
brain,  never  seriously  affected,  was  clearing.  He 
greeted  Sir  Ulick  with  a  confidential  chuckle  and  a 
wink. 

"  Believe  you  me,"  he  said,  "  that  young  lady  from 
Dublin  is  sorry  for  herself  this  minute.  I  wouldn't 
wonder  but  she  might  be  dead  before  night  the  way 
Father  Roche  has  been  talking  to  her.  And  now  that 
he's  done  with  her  he  wants  to  be  speaking  to  you. 
That's  what  he  sent  me  to  say,  that  he'd  be  obliged 
if  you'd  step  down  to  the  Court  House  any  time  that 
might  be  convenient  to  you,  only  the  sooner  the  better. 
It's  my  belief  he'd  like  to  see  you  before  Miss  Conolly 
comes  back." 

"  If  he's  going  to  talk  to  me  in  such  a  way  that 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  241 

ril  be  dead  before  night,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  "I'd  rather 
not  go  near  him." 

"  Don't  you  be  afraid,"  said  Maillia.  "  It'll  be  very 
different  language  he'll  use  to  you.  The  spirit's  gone 
out  of  him,  so  it  is.  And  it's  my  belief  that  he'd  be 
glad  this  minute  to  be  anywhere  but  where  he  is." 

"  I  suppose  Miss  Murphy  told  him  that  the  whole 
business  is  a  mistake  from  start  to  finish." 

"At  the  first  go  off,"  said  Maillia,  ''after  Peter 
fetched  her  in  the  motor  car  they  were  talking  to  each 
other  in  Irish,  her  and  Father  Roche,  as  polite  as  you 
please.  But  thanks  be  to  God,  I  was  brought  up  to 
the  Irish,  and  I  knew  every  word  they  said.  Well, 
the  young  lady  wasn't  very  easy  in  her  mind.  I  could 
see  that.  And  it  wasn't  long  before  Father  Roche 
had  it  out  of  her  that  she'd  made  a  big  mistake.  I'll 
say  this  for  her:  when  she  owned  up  she  owned  up 
properly.  She  gave  him  a  letter.  It  was  tore  in 
two,  but  it  could  be  read  easy  enough.  Only  it  took 
Father  Roche  a  long  time  to  read  it  on  account  of 
there  being  a  mighty  lot  of  it." 

''  I  never  got  through  the  whole  of  it  myself,"  said 
Sir  Ulick. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  old  Maillia,  ''did  Father 
Roche  read  the  whole  of  it  either;  but  he  read  enough. 
And  the  least  of  the  names  he  called  that  young  lady 
is  more  than  I'd  like  to  be  repeating  to  you.  Well, 
seeing  there  wasn't  enough  words  in  Irish  of  the  kind 
he  wanted " 

"  There  wouldn't  be,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "  Iri3h  is  the 
mellifluous  tongue  of  the  Gael." 


242  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

"  So  he  dropped  the  Irish  and  took  to  the  English. 
It  could  be  that  the  young  lady  understood  that  better, 
for  she  turned  mortal  white.  *  Do  you  know,'  said 
Father  Roche,  *  that  you're  answerable  for  the  lives 
of  the  men  that'll  have  to  die  for  this?'  *  Do  you 
know,'  says  he,  '  that  you've  perilled  their  immortal 
souls  and  maybe  destroyed  them  ? '  " 

''  I  should  have  thought  it  was  he  who  did  that." 

Old  Maillia  took  no  notice  of  the  terruption.  He 
was  keenly  enjoying  the  story  he  was  telling. 

"  *  Do  you  know,'  says  he,"  Maillia  went  on,  "  *  that 
you're  a  traitor  to  Ireland  ?  Do  you  know  that  you've 
done  an  injury  to  the  church  worse  than  if  you'd  gone 
with  a  stone  in  your  hand  and  broke  the  window  be- 
hind the  altar.  I  tell  you  this,  Ellen  Murphy,'  says 
he,  and  it  wasn't  Eibhlin  he  called  her  then,  nor  O'- 
Murchadha  either,  but  just  Ellen  Murphy.  '  I  tell  you 
this,  Ellen  Murphy,'  says  he,  *  that  you'll  be  sorry  for 
this  work  the  longest  day  you  ever  live.  Get  out  of 
my  sight  now  for  fear  I'd  curse  you  where  I  stand.* 
Be  damn,  but  it  was  great  talk  so  it  was.  I  don't 
know  did  ever  I  hear  as  good  and  I've  heard  some 
talk  in  my  time.  It's  a  pity  now  you  weren't  there 
yourself,  your  honour.  You'd  have  taken  great  pleas- 
ure out  of  listening  to  Father  Roche,  so  you  would." 

"What  happened?"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "Did  she  go 
or  did  he  curse  her?  " 

"  She  was  up  and  off,  mighty  quick,"  said  Maillia, 
"  and  small  blame  to  her." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

SIR  ULICK  went  back  to  the  dining-room.  The 
chicken  was  a  little  cold,  but  he  ate  a  second  wing. 
The  sherry  had  not  suffered  by  his  absence.  He 
drank  two  glasses  of  it.  While  he  ate  he  gave  an  ac- 
count of  his  interview  with  old  Maillia. 

"  The  priest's  evidently  weakening,"  said  Lord 
Athowen,  "  wants  to  make  terms  if  he  can." 

Sir  Ulick  lit  a  cigarette. 

"  Any  coffee,  Caroline  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Of  course,  there's  coffee,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  But 
I  think  you'd  better  go  straight  to  that  priest  and 
settle  things  before  Mona  gets  back." 

''  I'm  going  into  the  smoking-room,"  said  Sir  Ulick. 
"  I'm  going  to  have  two  cups  of  coffee.  I'm  going 
to  finish  this  cigarette  and  smoke  a  cigar.  I  wouldn't 
hurry  myself,  even  if  it  was  to  make  a  treaty  with  a 
Cardinal." 

"  Quite  right,"  said  Lord  Athowen.  "  Do  the  fel- 
low good  to  wait  a  little." 

''  There  you  are,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  That's  you 
all  over,  Toodles.  That's  the  way  you  make  the  mess 
you  do  of  governing  Ireland.  Laziness  and  letting 
your  chances  slip." 

'*  My  dear  Caroline,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  ''  Did  you 
ever  buy  a  horse  at  a  fair?" 

*'Did  I  ever  buy  a  horse!  "  said  Mrs.  Bryan.    "  A 

243 


244  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

horse !  If  I  had  half  a  crown  in  my  pocket  this  minute 
for  every  horse  I've  bought  and  another  for  every 
horse  I've  sold  I'd  be  a  rich  woman.  I  don't  suppose 
there's  a  woman  in  Ireland  has  bought  more  horses 
than  I  have." 

"  Then  you  ought  to  know,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  "  that 
the  price  goes  up  by  leaps  and  bounds  if  the  fellow 
that's  selling  finds  out  that  you're  really  keen  on  buy- 
ing. Whereas  if  you  leave  him  under  the  impression 
that  you  don't  want  a  horse  at  all  and  if  you  did  want 
one  it  wouldn't  be  his " 

"  Toodles,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  I'll  put  up  with  a 
good  deal,  but  I  will  not  stand  being  told  how  to  buy 
a  horse." 

"  I'm  telling  you  how  to  make  a  treaty,"  said  Sir 
Ulick.  "  All  negotiations  are  conducted  in  the  same 
way." 

"  If  you  wait  till  Mona  comes  back,"  said  Mrs. 
Bryan,  "you'll  have  trouble.  Your  chance  is  to  get 
the  priest  to  send  those  wretched  boys  home  before 
she  gets  at  them." 

"  Let's  argue  it  out  comfortably  in  front  of  a  fire," 
said  Sir  Ulick. 

He  rose  and  held  the  dining-room  door  open  for 
his  sister.  She  walked  into  the  smoking-room  talking 
over  her  shoulder  to  the  two  men  who  followed  her. 
Sir  Ulick  settled  himself  in  an  armchair  and  poured 
out  a  cup  of  coffee.  He  drew  a  cigar  from  his  case 
and  cut  the  end  of  it.  Mrs.  Bryan  talked  on,  volubly 
explaining  her  point  of  view.  She  said  that  the  priest 
had  realized  the  mistake  which  had  been  made  and 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  245 

was  anxious  to  escape  on  the  best  possible  terms  from 
very  unpleasant  consequences.  A  hint  from  Sir  Ulick 
would  be  sufficient  for  him.  If  the  priest  gave  the 
order  there  would  not  be  an  armed  Sinn  Feiner  in 
the  town  in  half  an  hour.  On  the  other  hand,  if  Mona 
came  back  she  would  refuse  to  make  terms.  She 
would  organize  some  kind  of  resistance. 

Sir  Ulick  waited  patiently,  smoking  and  sipping 
his  coffee,  till  his  sister  stopped  talking. 

"  There  are  two  flaws  in  your  reasoning,"  he  said. 
"  I  hope  you  don't  mind  my  speaking  plainly,  Caroline. 
You  often  speak  quite  plainly  to  me." 

"Swear  if  you  like,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  I  suppose 
that's  what  you  mean  by  speaking  plainly." 

"  I  don't  want  to  swear  in  the  least,"  said  Sir  Ulick. 
"  I  simply  want  to  point  out  that  you  ought  to  credit 
Mona  with  some  sense.  When  she  comes  back  she'll 
have  seen  those  guns.  I  think  you  may  trust  Tom 
to  show  them  off  to  the  best  advantage.  She'll  know 
that  it's  all  up  with  her  rebellion.  She'll  be  just  as 
keen  as  the  priest  on  getting  out  if  she  can.  And  I'll 
make  it  quite  plain  that  there's  only  one  way  out — un- 
conditional surrender." 

"You'd  surrender,  yourself,  I  suppose,"  said  Mrs. 
Bryan,  "  if  you  were  in  her  place." 

"  Of  course  I  should,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "  There's 
nothing  else  to  do." 

"  Well,  I  wouldn't,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "  And  I'm 
pretty  sure  Tom  wouldn't.  And  Geoffrey  wouldn't. 
Would  he.  Lord  Athowen?" 

Lord  Athowen  remembered  a  story,  badly  told  in 


246  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

a  short  paragraph  in  the  papers  of  the  winning  of  the 
V.C.  by  Captain  the  Honourable  Geoffrey  Birkett.  It 
was  a  story  very  easy  for  him  to  remember  because 
it  was  seldom  long  absent  from  his  mind.  Hundreds 
of  stories  like  it  have  come  from  the  battlefields  of 
France  and  Flanders.  Hundreds  of  others  have  never 
been  told.  They  all  have  the  same  moral.  Success  and 
victory  come  sometimes,  honour  and  glory  always  to 
men  who,  in  defiance  of  all  wisdom,  refuse  to  give  in. 

"  I  don't  know,  Caroline."  Lord  Athowen's  voice 
was  shaky.  The  fingers  which  held  his  cigar  trembled. 
"What  Ulick  says  is  quite  true.     I  agree  with  him 

thoroughly,  but "    Mrs.  Bryan's  eyes  were  on  him. 

"I  don't  know  about  Geoffrey,"  he  repeated.  Then 
suddenly  his  voice  grew  stronger.  "  Oh  damn  it  all, 
I  do  know.  Geoffrey  would  put  up  a  fight,  some  sort 
of  a  fight." 

"So  will  Mona,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "You  don't 
know  your  own  daughter,  Toodles.  You  don't  know 
Ireland.      You   don't   know   anything.      You're   only 

fit I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Toodles,  you  might 

govern  a  country  with  nobody  in  it  except  a  crowd  of 
— drat  the  fellow's  name ! — of  Bettanys.  You'll  never 
govern  anything  else." 

"  I  dare  say  you're  right,  Caroline,"  said  Sir  Ulick. 
"  I  dare  say  you're  right.  There  are  depths  of  im- 
becility  " 

"  Is  it  imbecility  ?  "  said  Lord  Athowen. 

"  No,  it's  not,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "  I  know  it's  not. 
Only  the  world  being  the  sort  of  place  it  is  I've  got 
to  treat  that  sort  of  thing  as  if  it  was  imbecility.    But 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  247 

I  won't  go  on  about  that.  I'll  give  in  if  you  like  that 
Mona  is  what's  sometimes  called  a  hero,  what  I'm 
bound  to  call  a  fool.  But  that  doesn't  affect  my 
second  point.  Suppose  she  comes  back  and  calls  upon 
those  young  men  of  hers  to  march  out  and  take  the 
guns.  Do  you  think  they'll  do  it?  Now,  wait  a 
minute.  I  know  they  might.  I'll  give  in  if  you  like 
that  they  would  if  it  were  just  a  choice  between  follow- 
ing Mona  and  deserting  her.  But  the  priest'll  be  on 
the  other  side.  He  will  be  telling  them  not  to  go. 
You  know  perfectly  well,  Caroline,  that  Mona  will 
he  helpless.  At  the  last  resort  an  Irishman  will  always 
obey  a  priest.  That's  why  I'm  not  a  bit  afraid  of 
anything  Mona  can  do  or  say  even  supposing  she's 
what  you  call  a  hero  and  what  I  call  a  fool." 

"  That's  what  always  happens,"  said  Lord  Athowen. 
"  Always.     Always.     It's  the  curse  of  the  country." 

'*  It's  not  what's  happening  now,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan. 
"I  don't  set  up  to  be  a  statesman  like  you,  Toodles. 
I  don't  sit  in  an  office  and  interview  all  sorts  of  solemn 
idiots  every  day.  But  I'm  neither  blind  nor  deaf,  and 
I  do  what  you  don't  do  and  never  did.  I  live  among 
the  people.  And  I  tell  you  this :  you're  trying  to  gov- 
ern Ireland  by  making  friends  with  the  priests.  You 
think  they  matter  and  no  one  else  does.  That's  the 
way  you  always  tried  to  govern  Ireland,  all  of  you.  It 
worked  pretty  wxll  in  the  past ;  but  it  won't  work  any 
more.  It's  the  priests  who  are  obeying  the  people 
now;  not  the  people  the  priests.  That's  what  you 
haven't  tumbled  to,  Toodles.  But  you'll  see.  You'll 
see  to-day.     If  Mona  says  one  thing  and  the  priest 


248  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

another    it's    Mona    they'll    follow,    the    most    of 
them." 

"  All  right,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "  I  can  finish  my  cigar 
on  the  way  over  to  the  Court  House.  I'll  go  and  see 
the  priest  at  once.  If  I  can  get  him  to  demobolize 
his  army  before  Mona  comes  back,  there'll  be  no  harm 
done." 

But  Sir  Ulick  was  not  compelled  to  leave  the  fire 
and  his  comfortable  chair  for  a  little  while  longer. 
Before  he  reached  the  door  of  the  smoking-room  the 
butler  appeared  and  said  that  Father  Roche  was  in 
the  morning-room.  Sir  Ulick  turned  to  his  sister 
with  a  smile. 

"  What  did  I  tell  you,  Caroline?  "  he  said.  "  The 
man  with  a  horse  to  sell  will  make  advances  if  you 
give  him  the  impression  that  you  don't  in  the  least 
want  the  animal.  May  I  have  him  in  here?  It  will 
be  much  more  comfortable,  and  I  dare  say  you'd  like 
to  hear  the  discussion  of  terms.  I  don't  suppose  he'll 
mind  your  being  present,  and  anyhow  he's  not  in  a  po- 
sition to  raise  objections.'* 

A  few  minutes  later  Father  Roche  was  shown  into 
the  smoking-room.  He  was  plainly  uncomfortable 
and  ill  at  ease;  but  he  managed  to  preserve  a  certain 
appearance  of  dignity.  Sir  Ulick  received  him  with 
polite  friendliness. 

"  Let  me  introduce  you  to  my  sister,"  he  said,  "  or 
perhaps  you  know  her  already.     And  this  is  Lord 
Athowen.     Now  we  all  know  each  other.     Sit  down, 
Father  Roche." 
.     He  pulled  forward  a  chair  as  he  spoke.    "  Let  me 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  249 

take  your  hat.  I'm  afraid  the  coffee's  cold;  but  we 
can  get  some  more.  No?  Well,  a  cigar?  Do  take 
a  cigar,  or  a  cigarette.  I  always  think  one  can  talk 
so  much  more  easily,  about  a  confidential  matter  par- 
ticularly, if  one  smokes." 

Father  Roche  helped  himself  to  a  cigarette.  Lord 
Athowen  struck  a  match  and  held  it  for  him. 

"You've  seen  Miss  Murphy,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "A' 
clever  girl,  quite  the  best  typewriting  girl  I've  ever 
had.    I  hope  she  explained  to  you " 

"  She  made  a  big  mistake,"  said  Father  Roche,  "  a 
terrible  big  mistake." 

*'  Yes,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  "  but  not  an  unnatural  one. 
The  letter  which  Miss  Murphy  found  wasn't  of  the 
slightest  importance.  You  and  I  know,"  he  spoke 
with  an  air  of  friendly  intimacy,  "  that  men  like  the 
writer  of  that  letter  don't  matter  in  the  least.  There 
are  hot-headed  and  foolish  people  on  bodi  sides,  but 
sensible  men,"  his  tone  suggested  that  he  and  Father 
Roche  were  both  sensible  men,  perhaps  the  only  two 
in  Ireland,  "  take  no  notice  of  what  they  say.  Why, 
I  get  half  a  dozen  letters  as  foolish  as  that  every  week. 
It's  the  greatest  possible  pity  that  Miss  Murphy  found 
it." 

*'  I  was  misled  and  deceived,"  said  Father  Roche. 

"  Any  one  might  have  been,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "  In 
your  position  I  might  very  well  have  acted  as  you 

have." 

Lord  Athowen  choked  suddenly,  making  an  explo- 
sive noise.  Everybody  looked  at  him.  He  gasped  an 
apolpgy. 


250  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

"Sorry,"  he  said.  ''This  cigar.  The  smoke,  you 
know.     Swallowed  some." 

"  What  I'm  thinking  about,"  said  Father  Roche, 
''  is  the  young  men  of  the  parish.  They've  been  mis- 
led, shamefully  misled,  and  now " 

"  It's  an  awkward  position,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  "  very 
awkward.  They're  in  arms,  you  see,  against  the 
Government." 

"  If  there's  bloodshed "  said  Father  Roche. 

"  I  hope  that  can  be  avoided,"  said  Sir  Ulrick. 

"  If  there's  hanging  and  shooting,"  said  Father 
Roche,  "  the  people  of  Ireland  will  never  forget  it. 
The  memory  of  the  heroic  dead  will  remain  for  genera- 
tions to  come  an  inspiration." 

"Quite  so,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "It  always  does. 
That's  why  we  want  to  avoid  anything  of  the  sort. 
And  we're  relying  on  you,  Father  Roche.  Your  in- 
fluence with  these  young  men  is  enormous,  irresistible. 
Now  if  you  were  to  tell  them  to  lay  down  their  arms 
at  once,  to  surrender  quietly." 

"Surrender?"  said  Father  Roche  doubtfully. 

The  word  evidently  displeased  him.  Sir  Ulick 
changed  it  at  once. 

"  I  should  hardly  call  It  a  surrender,"  he  said. 
"What  I  had  in  mind  was  nothing  formal.  No  haul- 
ing down  of  flags  or  being  marched  off  under  a 
guard." 

"  We'd — they'd  never  consent  to  that,"  said  Father 
Roche. 

"  My  idea,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  "  would  be  for  them  to 
slip  off  home,  quietly,  in  twos  and  threes.    They  could 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  251 

take  most  of  their  arms  with  them,  their  hockey  sticks 
and " 

"  Hurleys,"  said  Father  Roche.  *'  We  don't  play 
hockey.     It's  not  an  Irish  game." 

"  I  meant  hurleys,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  '*  The  guns 
Fm  afraid  they'd  have  to  leave.  But  after  all,  there 
aren't  very  many  guns.  They  could  just  be  left  be- 
hind, forgotten.  I'll  have  them  collected  afterwards. 
I  think,  Father  Roche,  that  if  you  could  arrange  for 
something  like  that  to  happen  that  nothing  more  would 
be  said  about  this  unfortunate  affair,  and  as  far  as 
you  yourself  are  concerned " 

'T'm  not  thinking  about  myself,"  said  the  priest. 
"  I'm  thinking  about  the  young  men  of  the  parish." 

"  Of  course.  I  quite  understand  that.  I  was  merely 
going  to  say  that  I'm  sure  the  Government  would  be 
glad  to  recognize  your  services  in  the  matter  in  any 
suitable  way.  You  might  count  on  a  welcome  at  any 
time  you  happened  to  call  at  my  office,  for  instance,  on 
business  connected  with  the  good  work  you  and  Father 
Maguire  are  doing  in  this  parish.     If  you  happened 

to  want  a  Government  grant  for  building "     Sir 

Ulick  waved  his  hand  airily.  "Now,  do  you  think 
that  this  demobilization  can  be  managed  ?  " 

He  lay  back  in  his  chair  while  he  talked.  His  eyes 
were  no  more  than  half  open.  A  cloud  of  tobacco 
smoke  hung  in  front  of  him.  He  spoke  in  a  quiet, 
conversational  tone. 

"You  probably  do  not  wish  for  any  thanks  from 
the  Government,"  he  went  on.  "  You  scarcely  recog- 
nize it  as  a  legitimate  Government.    I  understand  your 


i25^  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

feeling.  No  doubt  you  will  soon  displace  the  Dublin 
Castle  system  and  set  up  something  better  instead. 
But  in  the  meanwhile  we  can  be  useful  to  you  in 
helping  the  various  schemes  for  the  betterment  of  the 
people  which  you  have  at  heart — if  you  will  help  us — 
after  all  I  ought  not  to  ask  you  to  help  us.  What  you 
do  will  be  for  the  good  of  the  young  men  whose  wel- 
fare is  your  care,  who  have  as  you  say  been  grievously 
misled.'* 

The  priest  sat  silent.  The  cigarette  which  he  held 
between  his  fingers  had  gone  out.  He  had  put  it  to 
his  lips  only  once  since  Lord  Athowen  held  the  match 
to  it.  Sir  Ulick  threw  the  end  of  his  cigar  into  the 
fire  and  waited. 

There  was  a  sudden  noise  in  the  hall  outside  the 
smoking-room.  The  door  was  flung  open.  Tom 
Bryan,  hobbling  rapidly,  banging  the  floor  with 
his  sticks  as  he  put  them  down,  burst  into  the 
room. 

Sir  Ulick  sat  up  abruptly. 

"  Damn,"  he  said. 

It  was  the  first  time  since  he  came  to  Dunally,  it 
was  indeed  the  first  time  for  many  years  that  a  gust 
of  temper  had  swept  away  his  self-control.  There 
was  every  excuse  for  him.  He  was  at  the  moment  of 
bringing  a  delicate  and  difficult  negotiation  to  a  suc- 
cessful close.  He  had  flattered  into  friendliness  a  man 
who  came  to  him  full  of  distrust  and  dislike.  To  be 
interrupted  just  then  was  abominable  ill  luck,  but  even 
his  heartfelt  "  damn  "  was  softly  spoken.  Lord  Ath- 
owen heard  it,  Mrs.  Bryan  heard  it.    The  priest  did 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  253 

not.  Nor  did  Tom  in  the  doorway.  Sir  Ulick  was 
master  of  himself  again  in  a  moment. 

"  Well,  Tom,"  he  said.  "  Back  again?  Did  Mona 
see  the  guns  ?  " 

''Rather.  The  whole  half  battery,  and  the  Stokes 
mortars.    And  I  say " 

Tom  stopped  abruptly.  He  caught  sight  of  Father 
Roche  seated  near  the  fire. 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  "  I  didn't  know.  I  thought  you  were 
alone." 

"  Let  me  introduce  you,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "  This 
is  my  nephew,  Captain  Bryan — Father  Roche.  Father 
Roche  has  been  kind  enough  to  come  here  to  discuss 
what  we  ought  to  do." 

"  There's  nothing  he  can  do,"  said  Tom,  "  except 


Sir  Ulick  interrupted  him.  Tom  was  speaking  in 
just  the  tone  likely  to  rouse  the  anger  of  the  priest. 
He  was  apparently  going  to  say  things  which  would 
destroy  the  effect  of  Sir  Ulick's  cautious  diplomacy. 

"I  expect  you  want  some  lunch,  Tom,"  he  said. 
"  Tearing  about  in  a  motor  is  hungry  work." 

"Well,  I  do,"  said  Tom.  ''And  what's  more  I 
mean  to  have  some.  I'll  finish  that  ham  of  yours, 
mater.     But  before  I  go  I  want  to  tell  you " 

"  Afterwards,  Tom,  afterwards,"  said  Sir  Ulick. 

"Afterwards  won't  do,"  said  Tom.  "It'll  be  too 
late  to  tell  you  if  I  wait  till  I  have  had  lunch.  Look 
here,  Colonel  Witherly,  that's  the  CO.  of  the  mobile 
column,  has  given  Mona  an  ultimatum.  If  she  and 
her  men  don't  surrender  in  an  hour  he  opens  fire  on 


254  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

the  town.  There's  nothing  like  an  hour  left  now. 
The  hour's  grace  began  from  the  time  he  spoke  to  her 
and  we've  been  at  least  ten  minutes  getting  home, 
though  I  told  Watkins  to  drive  like  hell,  and  he  did." 

Father  Roche  started  to  his  feet. 

"  I  must  go  at  once,"  he  said.  "  I  must  stop  this. 
I  must " 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "  Wait  a  minute 
and  I'll  go  with  you.  Tom,  did  Mona  tell  you  what 
she  meant  to  do  ? " 

"  She  didn't  tell  me,"  said  Tom.  "  She  wouldn't 
speak  to  me.  But  I  know.  I  know  by  the  way  she 
answered  Witherly." 

"Well?"  said  Sir  Ulick. 

"  She's  going  to  fight,"  said  Tom.  "  She's  going  to 
defend  the  town." 

"There!"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  "What  did  I  tell 
you?" 

"  I  suppose  she's  in  the  Court  House  now,"  said 
Sir  Ulick. 

"  Yes.  Watkins  took  her  there  after  dropping  me 
at  the  gate." 

"  Perhaps  we'd  better  go  over  there,  Father  Roche," 
said  Sir  Ulick.    "  I  can  count  on  your  help,  I'm  sure." 

"  My  help !  "  said  the  priest.  "  To  advise  surrender? 
No.  I  mean — to  avoid  useless  bloodshed — oh  yes,  yes. 
Let  us  go  at  once." 

Sir  Ulick  rose.  His  face  was  white.  His  hands 
were  trembling  a  little;  but  he  moved  quietly  across 
the  room. 

"  I'll  go  with  you,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.    "  You  haven't 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  255 

the  dimmest  idea  how  to  manage  that  girl,  Toodles." 

"  Tom,"  said  Lord  Athowcn  vvlien  the  others  had 
left  the  room.     "  I'm  sorry  for  your  uncle." 

"  I'm  a  damned  sight  sorrier  for  Mona,"  said  Tom. 
"  She  hasn't  an  earthly,  and  she  doesn't  know  it." 

"  When  you've  had  a  bite  to  eat,"  said  Lord  Ath- 
owen,  "  you  and  I  will  go  across  to  the  Court  House 
and  see  what's  happening." 

"  Right-o.  It  seems  unfeeling  to  eat  under  the  circs. 
But  hang  it  all — look  here.  I'll  just  grab  a  chunk  of 
bread  and  a  slice  of  ham  and  eat  as  we  go." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

tORD^ATHOWEN  and   Tom  Bryan,   who  had 
.    a  thick  sandwich  in  his  hand,  came  out  of 
Dunally  House.    Tom  noticed  at  once  that  the 
sentries  on  the  gravel  in  front  of  the  door  had  been 
withdrawn  or  had  withdrawn  themselves. 

"  They  were  here  all  right/'  he  said,  "  when  I  came 
back  with  Mona." 

There  were  no  sentries  at  the  gates.  Tom  looked 
up  and  down  the  street.  The  sentries  who  guarded  the 
entrance  to  the  Court  House  were  gone.  Even  those 
on  the  bridge  were  gone.  Jackson's  bicycle  lay  against 
the  wall  unguarded. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Lord  Athowen,  "  that 
Mona's  army  has  fled." 

"  More  likely  to  be  in  the  Court  House,"  said  Tom, 
"  holding  another  council  of  war." 

"  If  Colonel  Witherly  knew " 

"  He  knows  right  enough,"  said  Tom.  "  From 
where  I  left  him  he  can  see.  With  a  decent  pair  of 
glasses  he  can  spot  every  one  who  moves  in  the  streets." 

*'  There's  really  nothing  to  prevent  him  marching 
into  the  place  at  the  present  moment.  There  isn't  a 
single  man  about  who'd  tell  Mona  he  was  coming." 

"  But  he  won't  do  it,"  said  Tom.  "  That's  the  kind 
of  man  Witherly  is.  He's  given  them  an  hour  and  he 
won't  stir  a  man  or  a  cartridge  till  the  time's  up." 

256 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  257 

Lieutenant  Jackson  came  hurriedly  from  the  Court 
House.  He  ran  towards  the  bridge.  He  stopped  for  a 
moment  when  he  saw  Tom  and  Lord  Athowen. 

"  Doing  a  bolt?  "  said  Tom.  "  Quite  right.  With- 
erly  starts  the  bombardment  in  about  half  an  hour. 
Much  better  to  be  out  of  this." 

"  My  bike's  still  on  the  bridge,"  said  Jackson. 
*' Thank  God!  H  it  had  been  taken  away  we'd  have 
been  done.  Even  as  it  is  I  may  not  be  in  time.  I'll 
have  to  ride  like  the  devil.  I  say,  Bryan,  keep  those 
fools  talking  in  the  Court  House." 

"What  about?"  said  Tom. 

Jackson  had  hurried  past,  but  he  stopped  and  half 
turned. 

"  About  any  damned  thing,"  he  said.  "  Talk  to 
them  yourself  if  you  can't  keep  them  there  any  other 
way.  I  got  the  tip  from  Sir  Ulick.  It's  his  plan. 
There  needn't  be  any  fighting  at  all  if  I  can  get  back 
in  time,  and  if  you  keep  them  talking.     If  you  don't 

I  say  it  would  be  an  infernal  shame  if  a  shell 

happened  to  kill  a  girl  like  that  cousin  of  yours.  She's 
a  peach.    And  she's  got  the  pluck  of  the  devil." 

He  ran  on.  A  couple  of  minutes  later  he  was 
on  his  motor  cycle  racing  at  top  speed  towards  the 
hill. 

Tom  and  Lord  Athowen  forced  their  way  into  the 
Court  House  with  difficulty.  It  was  packed  with  men. 
A  few  of  the  townspeople  were  there.  But  for  the 
most  part  they  had  gone  into  their  houses  and  shut 
their  doors.  They  did  not  wish  to  be  caught  in  the 
streets  if  bullets  were  flying  about,  and  they  felt  that 


258  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

they  would  be  safer  indoors  even  if  the  town  were 
bombarded.  Nor  were  all  Mona's  Volunteers  in  the 
Court  House.  The  building  was  full,  as  full  as  it 
could  be.  But  not  more  than  half  the  men  who  had 
marched  into  the  town  were  there.  The  rest  had  dis- 
appeared. Some  were  hidden  in  houses  in  the  town. 
Some  were  already  far  along  the  roads  or  scattered  in 
twos  and  threes  among  the  hills  on  the  north  side  of 
the  town.  Rumour — for  once  rumour  did  not 
exaggerate — had  whispered  awful  things  about  the 
guns. 

The  men  inside  the  Court  House  were  fiercely  ex- 
cited. They  were  shouting  angrily  when  Tom  and 
Lord  Athowen  pushed  their  way  through  the  door. 
Sir  Ulick  was  on  his  feet.  He  was  beside  Mona  on 
the  platform  where  the  Magistrates  sat  on  Court  days. 
The  whole  line  of  seats  behind  the  long  table  was 
occupied.  Mrs.  Bryan  sat  at  one  end  of  it.  Father 
Roche  was  next  Sir  Ulick.  Peter  Maillia  was  there, 
smart  and  soldier-like  in  his  uniform.  His  father  was 
there,  quite  sober  now.  There  were  other  young  men, 
officers  of  the  Volunteers.  Mona  sat  in  the  centre. 
On  her  left  was  Eibhlin  Murphy.  Eibhlin's  face  was 
tear-stained  and  blotchy.  She  held  a  handkerchief, 
a  soaked  rag,  and  constantly  wiped  her  eyes  with  it. 

Sir  Ulick  stood  quietly,  a  slight  smile  on  his  lips, 
while  the  men  below  him  howled  and  cursed.  He 
leaned  a  little  forward.  His  hands  were  clasped  be- 
hind his  back.  His  fingers,  twined  together,  were 
damp  with  sweat  and  were  writhing  like  eels  caught 
and  put  into  a  basket.     But  nobody  saw  Sir  Ulick's 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  259 

hands.  His  face  was  calm  enough.  His  eyes  were 
steady.  His  Hps  were  fixed  in  their  half  amused,  half 
contemptuous  smile.  Now  and  then  he  tried  to  speak, 
uttering  a  few  words.  Each  time  he  did  so  a  fresh 
burst  of  shouting  stopped  him  and  the  words  he  said 
were  unheard. 

A  young  man,  tall  and  vigorous,  with  a  great  shock 
of  red  hair,  sprang  from  his  seat  on  the  platform.  He 
held  his  hands  aloft  at  the  full  stretch  of  his  long 
arms,  the  fingers  outspread,  the  palms  towards  the 
people.  His  voice  rang  out  clear  above  the  shouting. 
The  men  in  the  body  of  the  Court  House  became  silent 
suddenly.  They  wanted  to  hear  him.  He  lowered  his 
right  hand  and  with  outstretched  finger  pointed  to 
Sir  Ulick. 

"  Who  is  he?  "  he  cried.  "  Do  you  want  to  know 
who  he  is  ?  I'll  tell  you.  He's  an  agent  of  the  Govern- 
ment. What  is  he  here  for?  Do  you  want  to  know 
that?  I'll  tell  you.  He's  here  to  betray  us.  Don't 
believe  a  word  he  says.  Don't  listen  to  him  when  he 
speaks." 

He  clenched  his  fists  and  shook  them  in  the  air 
above  him.  He  flung  his  head  back,  tossing  his  red 
hair  from  his  forehead. 

"Hasn't  Ireland  always  been  betrayed?"  he  cried. 
"Isn't  that  the  way  of  it,  one  time  after  another? 
But,  by  God,  we'll  listen  to  no  traitors  now." 

The  crowd  yelled  again.  Fists  and  sticks  were 
shaken  threateningly  at  Sir  Ulick.  A  man  at  the 
back  of  the  room  found  a  missile,  a  handle  wrenched 
from  the  door,  and  flung  it.    It  missed  Sir  Ulick  and 


26o  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

crashed  against  the  wall  behind  him.  Mona  looked  up 
at  her  father,  seized  his  coat  and  tried  to  pull  him 
down  in  his  seat.  She  spoke  to  him  in  a  hissing  whis- 
per which  reached  his  ears  through  the  noise  of  the 
tumult. 

"  It's  no  use  your  trying  to  speak  to  them.  They 
won't  hear  you.  I've  given  you  the  chance  you  asked, 
and  they  won't  hear  you.  Oh,  I'm  glad.  I'm  proud 
of  them  and  glad." 

Sir  Ulick,  still  smiling  slightly,  sat  down. 

Mona  rose.  There  was  neither  shouting  nor  cheer- 
ing.    She  spoke  amid  a  dead  silence. 

"  You  know  what  has  happened,"  she  said.  "  They 
have  got  guns  on  the  hills  in  front  of  us.  They  have 
offered  us  a  choice.    We  can  surrender." 

She  paused  and  looked  steadily  at  the  men  in  front 
of  her  as  if  waiting  for  a  response.  For  a  moment 
there  was  none.  Then  some  one  said  "  No."  Im- 
mediately there  was  a  great  shout  from  the  men  in 
every  part  of  the  room. 

"  No,  no,  no." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Mona,  "  for  if  wc  surrender 
they  will  shoot  us  or  hang  us  afterwards,  one  by  one 
after  sham  trials,  held  in  secret.  That  is  their  justice. 
If  we  do  not  surrender  they  will  fire  on  the  town. 
That  is  the  choice  they  give  us  and  then  allow  us  an 
hour  in  which  to  decide.  But  they  forget.  There  is 
something  else  we  can  do,  besides  standing  still  to  be 
buried  in  the  ruins  of  our  houses.  We  can  march  out 
and  storm  those  hills  and  take  their  guns.  It  is  for 
you  to  choose.    Which  is  it  to  be?" 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  261 

Cheer  after  cheer  rose.  There  was  no  doubt  about 
the  choice  which  the  men  were  making.  Tom  Bryan 
gripped  Lord  Athowen's  arm.  He  could  just  make 
his  words  heard  by  shouting. 

"  She's  mad,"  he  said,  **  stark  mad.  One  machine 
gun  would  wipe  out  the  whole  crowd  before  they 
crossed  the  bridge.  And  she's  seen  the  guns.  I 
showed  them  to  her  myself." 

Eibhlin  Murphy,  sitting  beside  Mona,  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands. 

"  Oh  Mona,"  she  sobbed.  "  Oh,  Mona,  Mona,  and 
it's  all  my  fault." 

Sir  Ulick  leaned  towards  the  priest  beside  him  and 
spoke  rapidly  and  very  earnestly. 

"  Try,"  he  said.  "  You  must  try.  It's  just  a  chance. 
Try  and  hold  them  for  a  while  any  way." 

Father  Roche  looked  doubtfully  at  the  men  in  front 
of  him.    He  shook  his  head. 

"  Try,"  said  Sir  Ulick.    ''  You  must  try." 

Mona,  still  standing,  spoke  again. 

"You  have  made  your  choice,"  she  said,  "the 
bravest  and  the  best.  So  long  as  Irish  hearts  beat 
anywhere  in  all  the  world  your  choice  will  be  remem- 
bered. We  need  talk  no  more.  Fall  into  your  ranks 
outside.  Your  officers  will  lead  you.  I  march  at  your 
head." 

Father  Roche  sprang  to  his  feet  at  last.  His  hesi- 
tation and  doubt  had  vanished.  He  was  an  angry 
man,  and  his  eyes  blazed  with  excitement. 

"  You  fools,"  he  shouted.  "  Do  you  know  what 
you're  doing?     Do  you  know  where  you're  going? 


262  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

You  can't  take  those  guns.  You  can't,  can't,  can't. 
There  won't  be  a  man  of  you  left  alive  ten  minutes 
after  you  start." 

"If  need  be  we  can  die,"  said  Mona.  Then  in  a 
rapt  ecstatic  tone  she  added :  "  for  Ireland." 

"  You'll  not  die  for  Ireland,"  said  the  priest. 
"  You'll  die  for  a  cursed  mistake.  You'll  die  because 
a  fool  of  a  woman  in  Dublin  didn't  know  what  she 
was  doing.  You'll  die  because  you've  been  misled  and 
deceived.  What's  the  good  of  dying  like  that?  Will 
you  throw  away  your  lives  and  have  nothing  in  ex- 
change for  them?" 

He  was  a  priest,  and  from  childhood  these  men  had 
regarded  the  words  of  a  priest  as  little  different  from 
the  words  of  God.  Also  he  said  things  which  were 
scarcely  to  be  denied.  His  words  produced  a  certain 
effect  even  on  the  excited  men  to  whom  he  spoke. 
There  was  an  uneasy  stirring  in  the  crowd.  At  the 
end  of  the  room  where  Tom  Bryan  and  Lord  Athowen 
stood,  men  began  to  move  slowly  towards  the  door. 
One  or  two,  then  five  or  six,  then  more,  slipped  out. 
The  priest  caught  at  his  advantage  and  repeated  his 
last  words,  speaking  very  slowly  and  emphatically. 

"  Will  you  throw  away  your  lives  and  have  nothing 
in  exchange  for  them  ?  " 

Mona  was  still  standing.  She  did  not  notice  the 
movement  in  the  crowd.  She  did  not  see  the  men 
slipping  out  of  the  door  away  from  her.  She  gazed 
with  a  rapt  look  past  them  all.  It  was  as  if 
she  no  longer  saw  the  Court  House  or  the  men  but 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  263 

had  a  vision  of  something  great  and  beautiful 
beyond. 

''  No  bfe  given  for  Ireland  is  thrown  away,"  she 
said.     '*  It  is  seed  sown." 

*'0h,  Mona,  Mona." 

It  was  Eibhlin  Murphy's  voice.  Her  wail  of  despair 
and  anguish  was  not  loud,  but  in  the  hush  which  fol- 
lowed Mona's  words  it  was  audible  in  every  corner  of 
the  room.  The  men  answered  Mona.  They  answered 
her  with  a  passionate  cry,  inarticulate  like  a  sob. 
There  was  a  sudden  thrilling,  a  stiffening.  All  move- 
ment ceased.  Even  the  men  who  had  edged  their  way 
nearest  the  door  stood  still  and  turned  their  faces  to 
Mona  again. 

Father  Roche  tried  to  speak,  but  he  was  interrupted. 
Peter  Maillia,  climbing  on  the  table  in  front  of  him, 
stood  high  above  the  crowd.  He  held  a  sword  in  his 
hand,  an  old  cavalry  sabre,  the  relic  of  some  bygone 
war.  He  drew  it  from  its  sheath  and  raised  the  naked 
blade  aloft. 

"Men  of  Ireland,"  he  cried. 

Even  then,  when  the  lives  of  his  hearers  and  his 
own  life  were  in  peril,  he  could  not  escape  the  lure  of 
rhetoric. 

"  Men  01  Ireland !  Will  you  fail  ?  Will  you  shrink  ? 
Lo,  Eire  calls  you,  needs  you,  cries  for  you.  The 
foeman  waits  beyond.  We  are  the  Children  of  the 
Gael.    To  your  ranks !    To  your  ranks !  " 

He  went  on,  pouring  out  a  wild  rhapsody.  His 
voice  rose  to  shrieks,  sank  almost  to  whispers.     He 


264  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

waved  his  sword.  He  let  its  point  drop  suddenly  on 
the  table  before  him.  He  was  passionate.  Sometimes 
he  was  incoherent.  He  no  longer  spoke.  He  chanted 
words  which  fell  into  rhythm. 

The  priest  sat  down,  a  heavy  frown  on  his  face. 
His  hands,  tightly  clenched,  lay  on  the  table  before 
him. 

Tom  Bryan  whispered — it  was  possible  for  a 
whisper  to  be  heard  now — into  Lord  Athowen's 
ear. 

"  Damn  it,**  he  said,  "  he  is  a  poet  after  all.  I'd 
never  have  thought  it.  Old  Maillia's  son !  I  say,  look 
at  his  eyes." 

But  Lord  Athowen  did  not  look  at  Peter  Maillia. 
He  pointed  to  Sir  Ulick.  Tom  turned  his  eyes,  fol- 
lowing Lord  Athowen's  sign,  and  looked  at  his  uncle. 
Sir  Ulick  sat,  pale,  his  lips  tightly  pressed.  His  watch 
was  in  his  hand.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  door  of 
the  Court  House. 

"  Gad,"  said  Tom,  "  time  is  up.    Must  be." 

He  glanced  at  the  watch  on  his  wrist. 

"  The  hour's  gone,"  he  said.     "  Witherly  will 

I  say,  I  wonder  what  Witherly  is  doing.'* 

Peter  Maillia  stopped  abruptly,  climbed  from  the 
table  and  sat  down,  shaking,  panting.  A  storm  of 
cheers  rose  from  the  men  who  had  listened  almost 
breathlessly.  Tom  was  obliged  to  shout  again  to  make 
Lord  Athowen  hear  him. 

"  Look  at  Uncle  Ulick.  There's  some  game  on. 
Speak  to  them,  Lord  Athowen.  Say  something.  Keep 
them  here." 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  265 

Lord  Athovvcn  shook  his  head. 

"  They  wouldn't  listen,"  he  said. 

"  I'll  make  them  listen  to  me,"  said  Tom. 

The  crowd  near  the  door  was  less  dense  since  the 
men  who  had  listened  to  the  priest  went  out.  Tom 
elbowed  his  way  forward  till  he  reached  the  scats  below 
the  platform.  He  found  foothold  on  a  corner  of  one 
seat  and  steadied  himself  by  laying  a  hand  on  the 
shoulder  of  the  man  beside  him. 

"Listen  to  me,"  he  said,  "just  half  a  mo'  before 
you  start  fighting.  Now,  don't  howl  at  me.  I'm  not 
a  spy  or  a  Government  agent  or  any  rotten  thing  of 
that  kind."  He  looked  round  at  them  with  a  broad 
smile.  "  I'm  not  even  a  poet  like  Peter  Maillia  there. 
Now,  don't  howl.  I  don't  want  to  stop  you  lighting. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  I'd  rather  enjoy  watching  a  bit 
of  a  scrap.  I've  been  in  a  lot  myself;  but  I  never  had 
a  chance  of  sitting  in  a  front  seat  and  watching  other 
johnnies  at  it." 

The  abrupt  contrast  between  Maillia's  high-flown 
rhetoric  and  this  cheerful  slanginess  caught  the  atten- 
tion of  the  men.  They  made  one  or  two  attempts 
to  shout  him  down.     Soon  they  began  to  listen. 

"  I  just  want  to  tell  you  a  thing  or  two  about  guns," 
said  Tom.  "  I  dare  say  you  don't  know  how  gunners 
work.  They  don't  start  right  away  aiming  at  the  thing 
they  want  to  hit.  That's  not  their  little  game.  They 
aim  at  something  else  to  start  with.  Suppose  now 
those  fellows  on  the  hill  want  to  smash  up  this  Court 
House — and  they  probably  will  on  account  of  the  flag 
you've  got  flying.    The  first  thing  they'll  do  will  be  to 


266  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

send  a  shell  about  thirty  yards  too  far.  Just  about  get 
your  public  house  with  it,  Maillia.  There'll  be  an  in- 
fernal spill  of  bad  whisky  after  that." 

Somebody  laughed  aloud.  Here  and  there  in  the 
crowd  there  was  an  answering  ripple  of  laughter.  The 
thought  of  whisky  flowing  down  the  gutters  of  the 
street  was  amusing. 

"  The  next  time  they  fire,"  said  Tom,  "  the  shell 
will  fall  a  bit  short,  most  likely  on  our  house.  I  shan't 
like  that.  Nor  will  my  mother.  And  it  will  be  a  pity 
about  the  horses." 

The  big  red-headed  man  who  sat  beside  Peter  Mail- 
lia, jumped  to  his  feet. 

"  We've  had  enough  of  this  damned  fooling,"  he 
said.     "  We're  going  to  fight.     Come  on." 

Tom's  foot  slipped  and  he  came  down  from  the 
perch  on  which  he  had  been  standing  insecurely.  Lord 
Athowen,  who  had  also  pushed  his  way  forward, 
caught  and  steadied  him. 

*'  I  couldn't  have  gone  on  talking  that  rot  another 
minute  any  way,"  said  Tom.  "  I  wonder  what  the 
devil  Witherly's  game  is.  Uncle  Ulick's  expecting 
something.     Look  at  him." 

The  red-headed  young  giant  went  on  shouting 
fiercely,  only  pausing  for  a  second  or  two  to  fling  his 
hair  back  from  his  forehead  with  a  swift  sweep  of  his 
hand. 

"  Come  and  fight,"  he  yelled.  "  Come  on  and  fight 
for  Ireland.    Come  on  and  die  for  Ireland." 

Mrs.  Bryan,  seated  at  the  far  end  of  the  platform, 
spoke  suddenly.    She  did  not  rise  to  her  feet.    She  did 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  267 

not  shout.  But  her  voice  had  the  carrying  power 
common  in  the  voices  of  those  who  speak  much  in  the 
open  air. 

"  Thady  Maher,"  she  said,  "  sit  down  and  stop  yell- 
ing. Sit  down  now  when  I  tell  you.  Haven't  I  known 
you  since  you  were  a  red-headed  little  gossoon  earning 
sixpence  a  day  for  mucking  out  my  hen  house? 
Didn't  I  know  your  father  before  you?  And  your 
mother  who  was  the  worst  cook  ever  entered  my 
kitchen?  Sit  down  now  and  listen  to  me.  H  you 
want  to  fight,  in  the  name  of  goodness  go  and  do  it. 
If  you  want  to  die  nobody's  going  to  interfere  with 
you.  It  would  be  good  riddance  if  most  of  you  did 
die."  She  looked  round  with  an  amiable  smile  which 
was  a  contradiction  of  the  words  she  spoke.  **  Only 
what's  the  good  of  dying  here?  There's  a  lot  more 
people  besides  yourselves  to  think  about;  people  who 
don't  want  to  die  either  for  Ireland  or  anything  else. 
You  heard  what  the  Captain  said  about  the  guns.  If 
it's  only  dying  you  want  what's  the  use  of  having 
Maillia's  public  house  destroyed  and  my  house  de- 
stroyed and  maybe  a  dozen  more  along  with  them? 
Why  can't  you  go  out  of  the  tow^n  ?  Go  out  to  the  hills 
beyond  there.  Go  out  to  the  bogs.  And  let  any  dying 
that  has  to  be  done  be  done  where  no  harm  will  come 
to  any  one  but  yourselves.  There's  .sense  for  you  now, 
and  let  me  tell  you  it's  the  only  sense  you've  heard 
to-day." 

Thady  Maher  sat  down  when  Mrs.  Bryan  bade  him. 
The  memory  of  the  days  of  which  she  spoke,  when 
he  cleaned  out  her  hen  house,  made  disobedience  im- 


268  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

possible.     But  he  had  a  word  to  say  when  she  had 

finished. 

"  We're  not  going,"  he  said,  "  without  we  have  a 
fight  first." 

"Oh,  you'll  get  a  fight  right  enough,"  said  Mrs. 
Bryan.  "  Don't  you  be  afraid,  Thady.  The  soldiers 
will  go  after  you.  So  just  you  trot  ofT,  the  whole  of 
you,  and  leave  decent  people  like  old  Maillia  and  my- 
self to  live  with  roofs  over  our  heads." 

She  kept  her  eyes  on  Thady  Maher  while  she  spoke, 
until  she  mentioned  old  Maillia's  name.  Then  her 
glance  moved  along  the  line  of  figures  on  the  Magis- 
trates' Bench.  She  saw  old  Maillia  smiling  at  her. 
She  saw  Eibhlin  Murphy  weeping  convulsively.  She 
saw  Mona  still  standing  with  the  rapt  expression  on 
her  face.  She  saw  her  brother.  Even  as  she  looked 
at  him  his  attitude  suddenly  changed.  His  tense  mus- 
cles relaxed.  He  lay  back  in  his  chair.  His  hands 
dropped  to  his  sides.  She  saw  his  lips  part.  She  heard 
the  words  he  spoke. 

"  Thank  God,"  he  said. 

Then  a  new  voice  sounded  at  the  end  of  the  room. 
An  officer  in  uniform,  an  elderly,  grizzled  man,  stood 
in  the  doorway.  He  spoke  sharply  as  a  man  who 
gives  orders,  confidently  as  one  whose  orders  will  cer- 
tainly be  obeyed. 

"  Stand  still,"  he  said,  "  let  no  one  move  till  I  give 
the  order." 

Every  head  in  the  body  of  the  room  was  turned  at 
once.    Mona,  Peter  Maillia,  Thady  Maher  and  every 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  269 

one  on  the  Magistrates*  Bench  stared  at  the  stranger. 
Old  Maillia  alone  spoke. 

"  Gosh,"  he  said,  "  but  you're  properly  caught  now, 
boys." 

"  Silence,"  .>aid  the  officer  at  the  door.  "  I  am  here 
to  tell  you  that  this  house  is  surrounded.  I  have  three 
companies  of  cyclists  in  the  square  outside.  I  have  two 
Maxims  commanding  the  steps  of  the  Court  House  and 
a  Lewis  gun  in  the  passage  behind  me.  I  have  only  to 
raise  my  hand  and  there  won't  be  a  living  soul  in  this 
hall  in  two  minutes.    Understand?  " 

He  paused.  He  stepped  a  little  aside  from  the  door- 
way. The  men  in  the  hall  could  see  through  the  open 
door  the  Lewis  gun  of  which  he  told  them.  It  was 
there  and  four  soldiers  stood  beside  it. 

"  Leave  the  Court  House  in  single  file,"  said  the 
officer,  "passing  me  one  by  one,  slowly  and  without 
rushing.  Those  who  have  arms  will  hand  them  over 
to  the  guard  stationed  on  the  steps  outside.  Those 
who  are  wearing  uniform  are  advised  to  change  into 
civilian  clothes  at  once.  Now,  get  a  move  on. 
March." 

There  was  a  moment's  hesitation.  The  officer 
turned  to  the  soldiers  behind  him,  the  Lewis  gun  team. 

"Ready?"  he  said. 

The  men  in  the  Court  House  wavered.  Then  one 
by  one  they  passed  by  him.  Some  went  with  sulky 
faces  and  bent  heads.  Some  marched  erect  with  defi- 
ance in  their  eyes.  Some  giggled  feebly.  Many- 
walked  as  men  relieved  of  a  great  fear. 


270  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

At  last  they  were  all  gone.  Mona  sank  into  her 
chair.  She  bowed  her  head  until  her  face  rested  on 
her  arms  spread  out  on  the  table  before  her.  Eibhlin 
Murphy  put  her  arms  round  her  friend's  neck  and 
sobbed  afresh.  Mrs.  Bryan  left  her  seat,  went 
over  to  Mona  and  took  one  of  her  outstretched 
hands. 

Lieutenant  Jackson  entered  the  room.  He  stood  to 
attention  in  front  of  the  Colonel  and  saluted. 

"  All  arms  have  been  taken  up,  sir.  The  men  have 
dispersed.  Sentries  are  posted  and  patrols  are  out, 
sir." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Colonel  Witherly. 

He  crossed  the  empty  Court  House.  Sir  Ulick 
came  forward  to  meet  him. 

"  Sir  Ulick  Conolly,"  said  the  Colonel.  "  I  have 
done  what  you  suggested.     I  hope  it's  all  right." 

''Thank  you,"  said  Sir  Ulick. 

Lieutenant  Jackson  took  Tom  Bryan  by  the  arm. 

"  I  got  there  in  time,"  he  said.  "  Had  to  open  out 
and  let  the  old  bike  go  a  bit  to  do  it.  I  took  some 
chances  at  those  infernal  corners.  But  I  did  it.  The 
old  man  tumbled  to  the  idea  right  away.  Fd  have  shot 
the  fellows  myself.  But  the  CO.  never  wanted  to 
shoot.  Soft-hearted  blighter.  Not  a  real  soldier,  you 
know."  He  sank  his  voice  to  a  whisper.  "  Yeomanry. 
No  notion  of  fighting.  I  say,  Bryan,  I'm  glad  I  hap- 
pened to  be  in  this  mobile  column.  Rather  barred  be- 
ing mixed  up  with  a  lot  of  beastly  cyclists  at  first. 
But  I  wouldn't  have  missed  this  show  for  a  month's 
leave." 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  271 

'*  You  missed  the  best  part  of  it,"  said  Tom. 

"  Eh?    What?    What  did  I  miss?" 

"You  missed  the  speech  I  made  them,"  said  Tom. 
"Lecture  on  artillery  tactics.  You  told  me  to  talk  to 
them,  and,  by  gum,  I  did." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THERE  was  an  unusually  large  party  at  dinner 
in  Dunally  House  that  evening.  Mrs.  Bryan 
sat  at  the  head  of  the  table  with  Lord  Athowen 
and  Colonel  Witherly  beside  her.  Tom  sat  at  the 
foot  with  his  uncle  on  his  right  and  Lieutenant  Jack- 
son on  his  left.  After  dinner  when  the  servants  had 
left  the  room  the  talk  turned  at  once  to  Mona  and 
her  rebellion. 

**  I  hope  the  Government  will  take  no  steps  to  pun- 
ish her,"  said  Colonel  Witherly.  "  I  suppose  she's 
nominally  under  arrest  at  present,  but " 

"She's  in  bed,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan,  "and  the  other 
girl  is  in  bed  too,  in  my  maid's  room.  There  they'll 
stay  both  of  them.     It's  the  proper  place  for  them." 

"  I  think,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  "  that  nothing  more  will 
be  heard  of  this  escapade." 

"  They'll  get  off,  will  they  ?  "  said  Tom.  "  I  must 
say  I'm  jolly  glad  to  hear  it.  Republics  are  rotten 
things,  of  course,  and  I  bar  poets  as  much  as  any  man. 
Still — young  Maillia  now,  and  that  red-headed  fel- 
low  " 

"  They  didn't  funk  going  over  the  top,"  said  Jack- 
son, "when  they  thought  they  were  for  it." 

"  Exactly,"  said  Tom.  "  And  that  sort  of  fellow — 
hang  it  all,  you  can't  help  having  some  sort  of  respect 
for  a  fellow  who'll  fight,  whatever  he  fights  for." 

9^2 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  273 

** '  Though  the  end  in  view  is  a  crime,'  "  said  Lord 
Athowen.  "  You  probably  don't  read  Browning,  Tom. 
If  you  did  you'd  recognize  that  he  expressed  your 
feehng  for  you." 

''Did  he?"  said  Tom.  "But  it's  not  my  feeling 
particularly.  Jackson  would  say  the  same.  I  expect 
Colonel  Witherly  would  too." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Colonel  Witherly.  "I  let 
them  get  away,  acting  on  your  advice.  Sir  Ulick.  Oh, 
I  quite  agree.     It  seemed  to  me  the  best  thing  to  do, 

the  most  humane  thing.     But Well,  I  hope  the 

Government  will  take  the  same  view.  We  soldiers 
are  rather  distrustful  of  governments.  They  let  us 
down  now  and  then  badly.  I  hope  I  shan't  be  hauled 
over  the  coals  for  letting  them  all  get  off." 

'^  I  don't  think  you  need  be  nervous  this  time,"  said 
Sir  Ulick.     "  No  one  wants  trouble  in  Ireland  just 


now. 


It  comes  though,"  said  Lord  Athowen.  "  It 
comes.  Trouble  in  Ireland  always  comes  when  it's 
least  wanted." 

**  But  we  can  ignore  it,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "  The  Gov- 
ernment will  ignore  it.  Thank  God  for  the  Press 
Censor.  And  now,  if  Mona  will  only  keep  quiet  for 
a  while " 

"  Mona  will  stay  here,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan.  ''  I'll  look 
after  her.  You  can  take  the  other  girl  back  with  you 
if  you  like,  Toodles." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Sir  Ulick,  "  I  shall  want  Miss  Mur- 
phy, of  course.  I  could  hardly  get  on  without  her,  and 
if  you  can  persuade  Mona  to  behave  decently " 


274  UP,  THE  REBELS! 

"  Toodles,"  said  Mrs.  Bryan,  "  Fm  a  loyal  woman, 
and  I've  no  more  fancy  than  you  have  for  living  under 
an  Irish  Republic,  kow-towing  all  day  and  every  day 
to  old  Maillia  and  the  riff-raff  of  the  town.  All  the 
same,  Toodles,  if  I  had  to  dress  up  in  my  best  frock 
and  put  in  an  appearance  at  the  Day  of  Judgment  to- 
morrow Td  rather  be  Mona  than  you.  Mona's  a  mis- 
guided fool  of  a  girl,  stuffed  up  with  every  kind  of 
poetry  and  nonsense,  but  she  rode  straight  at  her 
fences.  Almighty  God  isn't  going  to  snap  the  head  off 
any  one  who  does  that.  But  as  for  you,  Toodles,  what 
have  you  ever  done  except  shirk  and  funk  and  dodge 
and  skirt?  I'm  speaking  plainly  now,  for  your  own 
good.  You're  neither  on  one  side  nor  the  other, 
Toodles.  You're  supposed  to  be  governing  Ireland, 
and  all  you're  doing  is  looking  out  for  a  soft  spot  to 
fall  on." 

"  Don't  be  too  hard  on  him,"  said  Lord  Athowen. 
"  After  all " 

"  No  doubt  you  are  right,  Caroline,"  said  Sir  Ulick. 
"  But  there  are  excuses.  If  we're  having  a  Day  of 
Judgment — it's  the  last  thing  /  want.  But  if  we  must 
have  it  you  ought  to  read  out  the  list  of  excuses  as 
well  as  the  crimes." 

"  Excuses !  "  said  Mrs.  Bryan.    "  There  aren't  any." 

"  There  are,"  said  Sir  Ulick.  "  One  or  two.  It's 
my  job — not  to  govern  Ireland,  Caroline.  I  never 
professed  to  do  that.  I  know  it  can't  be  done.  My 
job  is  just  to  keep  things  going  somehow  so  that  they'll 
last  out  our  time.  It's  a  makeshift  business  and  some- 
times I  think  I'm  at  the  last  possible  shift  and  that  the 


UP,  THE  REBELS!  275 

crash  is  bound  to  come.  But  we  struggle  on.  Some- 
how or  other  we've  pulled  through  up  to  the  present. 
It's  not  a  pleasant  life  at  all.  I  don't  like  lying  and 
dodging,  Caroline.  I'd  rather  run  straight.  But  the 
other's  my  job.  I  was  brought  up  to  it  and  Tm  not  fit 
for  anything  else.  And  somebody  has  to  do  it,  you 
know.  What  you  object  to,  Caroline,  is  the  inside  of 
practical  politics.  It's  no  use  blaming  me  for  what 
that  is  or  complaining  that  my  hands  smell  when  I'm 
kept  all  my  time  stopping  leaks  in  sewers." 

"Don't  be  too  hard  on  yourself,  Ulick,"  said  Lord 
Athowen.  '*  After  all,  you  got  us  out  of  the  mess  we 
were  in,  Mona  and  those  young  men  and  all  of  us. 
And  you  always  do,  Ulick.  You  always  do  straighten 
things  out  somehow.  You  mustn't  be  too  hard  on 
yourself." 


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